The Good Life
by Bad Company
Summary: A crossover between Holly and Ava's story worlds. No new OCs. Fluff and further character exploration. Happy/OC, Tig/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**The Good Life**

By Bad Company

**Disclaimer: **Don't own FX or Sons of Anarchy. Don't claim absolute reality of OMC portrayal. But Maggie, Ava, and Holly are mine, all mine.

**AN: **To alleviate some of the darkness of "Gets In Your Blood", I decided to post this. This does not have any bearing on either of my series; just for fun. Timelines are off, so use Ava's as the base and don't worry too much about how the events of Holly's stories play into this. Just pure fluff and ridiculous crossover between my parallel story arcs.

Ava is 19 here, Holly is 27, and Carter is the new Prospect.

Enjoy and review!

…

"Ava, this is your last warning."

"I know, I know," she said, but just leaned further across the bathroom counter, getting so close to the mirror she almost touched the glass, and took the mascara brush on another trip through her lashes.

Happy sighed. Their promised early departure had turned into this two hour shower/hair/makeup extravaganza. Even though – if he admitted it – the forty five minute shower _had _been his fault. But not all this other shit. All this spritzing and smearing and smoothing nonsense, that was all her. How could one girl require so many damn bottles of sweet-smelling, gooey, beautification products? Had he missed something? Were all chicks this way? Or did Gemma Teller just leap out of bed every morning with smoky eyes and perfect hair? Shit…did he actually know what a "smoky eye" was? Living with a teenager was not giving him any points in the man department.

"Ava," he warned again, propping a shoulder in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Almost done, I swear," she promised, capping the tube and putting it in her bag.

He had to admit, as she did one last primp in the mirror, that all the time she spent was worth it. She went au natural on the weekends sometimes, and was cute as hell, but he was a fan of the done-up Ava too. When she stalked into the clubhouse on his arm, she looked _good_, and he took pride knowing that she wanted to look nice for him.

She turned her head to shoot him a smile as she zipped up her bag, dark hair flipping over her shoulder. "You wouldn't wanna be seen with an ugo, would you?"

He shrugged. "Well, you're in the truck so I actually won't be seen with you…"

She scowled.

"Kiddin'," Hap chuckled. "You always look hot, baby."

"Yeah," she huffed, but was smiling. "Is everything in the truck?"

"Except you," he snorted, digging in his pocket when his cell trilled to life. "See? And this is your dad wonderin' where the fuck we been."

She smiled sweetly on her way past him, dancing the ends of her chrome fingernails across his stomach. "See ya out there," she said in a sing-song voice, laughing because once again, Chibs had called _him_ about his daughter's scheduled whereabouts.

"Brat," he told her before his flipped open the phone. He didn't even check the caller ID. "Yo."

**-O-**

"Hol." Tig slapped the paper down on the kitchen table to catch her attention, lip curling when he saw what she was doing. Holly stood in her pajamas at the sink, daintily eating a bagel leaned over the basin so she didn't leave crumbs anywhere. "Jesus, you got plates," he grumbled, pulling out a chair and settling into it.

He watched her swallow and dab at the spot of cream cheese in the corner of her mouth. She turned to face him, one hand holding the bagel over the sink still. "I know," she said, eyes dropping a moment like she was afraid she'd done something wrong. "I just didn't want to dirty one for just this."

He shook his head. "Whatever." Normally, her little helpful, careful ways bugged the shit out of him, but there was a very different, much more dangerous bitch occupying the part of his brain he reserved for annoyances. He'd been quietly stewing over something since Hap's call the night before, and that morning, waking up in his dorm, somewhat hungover, he'd found it necessary to pay Holly a visit at home. And here he found her in her goddamn underwear, using the sink as a plate. That little show of her desire to keep the place clean – to keep him happy – piqued his aggravation and only made him that much more disapproving of the little snot-nosed bitch who stood to make his new life miserable. As much as he resisted it, he had a good thing going with Holly, and she needed to know, right now, that he had no intentions of letting someone else interfere with that. If he told Holly what was what, she'd listen, and then he'd have nothing to worry about. Even if his little nemesis came back into town and tried to awaken Holly's inner diva.

"You want some coffee?" She pulled a paper towel off the roll, set her bagel atop it on the counter, and went after a mug in the cabinets.

"No," he snapped, and then shook his head. He wasn't pissed at Holly, but it became hard to separate all that in his head when he was so focused. "No…I mean…yeah. Sure."

Her sleep shirt rode up when she stretched toward the shelf and he caught a nice glimpse of her turquoise lace panties. The girl had a nice ass. Built like one of those rare white chicks who landed a spot in a rap video. It was almost enough to distract him. Almost.

"I gotta talk to you about something," he announced, voice going official.

She glanced up, green eyes trained on him as she poured coffee without spilling a drop. "Okay."

He waited until she slid the mug in front of him and then pointed at the neighboring chair. "Sit." She did, little hands folded over the table and head tilted inquiringly. Tig stared at her a moment, wondering how to best pose this so that she didn't get all sad and depressed on him. "You know yesterday," he started ", when I mentioned that Hap might be coming back into town for the season?"

It was subtle, but he saw her stiffen. Her fingers drummed once on the table. "Yeah…"

Seeing her nervousness pissed him off. Happy was his _brother. _All the scary shit out there and Holly got twitchy about Hap. "Calm down," he said with disgust. "This ain't about him." Tig sighed. Holly had seen some truly awful shit in her short life, and he wasn't sure if what he was about to explain would register with her. "His Old Lady…you've heard us mention her, right?"

She nodded, some of the tension leaving her pixie features. "Chibs' daughter?"

"Yeah." He lowered his head, stared directly into her wide, green eyes and tried to impress his point. "She's trouble, okay? And you need to stay away from her."

Holly frowned. "But, she's an Old Lady and -,"

"Just listen to me, damnit! You need to stay away from Ava. If she comes over, you walk the other way. She wants to talk, make up some excuse, I don't give a shit. But steer clear, got it? Don't let your 'nice side' get the best of you."

"I -,"

"I'm just looking for a 'yes' here, Hol, not a bunch of shit."

She sighed quietly. "Yes."

"Good." Tig chugged the coffee in a few swallows and then pushed up from the table. "Be at the clubhouse around eight."

**-O-**

"Hey, Mom," Ava answered her cell, eyes flicking up to the rearview for a routine check that Hap was still safe and sound behind her.

"Hey, baby."

_Uh oh. _Maggie had that heavy sound to her voice. Not pissed, not upset or anything, just heavy. The one that indicated that she had something bothering her but would dance around the issue for ten minutes until she felt Ava was good and ready to side with her, whatever the offending worry. It wasn't about Chibs – because those conversations began with a yelled _"Your father is a fucking moron!" _So this was something else.

"You kids on the road?"

"Yeah," Ava snorted, sparing her Old Man another glance in the mirror. _Kids. _Such kids they were; Ava and her forty-six-year-old sugar daddy. "We're about an hour out."

"You excited?"

She smiled. "Of course I am." After a spring, summer, fall, spring, and then another summer semester of consecutive classes, Ava was taking this fall off. She'd made fabulous progress toward her degree and she and Hap had decided that August through January was the busiest time in Charming and therefore the best time to spend there. Gemma had several charity gigs she would need help manning. The holidays would soon be upon them. And the guys always did their big children's cancer ride mid-November. In Sacramento, it wasn't as if she didn't get quite a few long weekends at home, but she was looking forward to this extended stay. No school. Just family.

"I'm so glad you're coming home," Maggie said, voice lightening a moment. "I get lonely around here!"

"Mom, how could you possibly be lonely?"

"You know what I mean, brat," Maggie chuckled. "I miss my girl. It's not fair; Hap keeping you all to himself."

Ava shook her head, rolling her eyes. "That would be _school_ keeping me away. Trust me, Hap wishes I didn't have to go either."

"Aww, does someone get all pouty?"

"You have no idea," Ava couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled out of her. It was like Happy was regressing, growing more and more fussy as the semesters wore on. The final weeks of her latest semester had seen him wrapped around her each morning when the alarm sounded, arms tightening and fighting to keep her in bed when she tried to get up. She'd faked illness instead of telling her professor the real reason for her tardiness. _Sorry, sir, my boyfriend wouldn't let me go this morning. The killa's turned into a closet cuddler and wanted to snuggle all day._

That was one of the hardest things about her relationship; conveying it properly to outsiders. She used "boyfriend" because she couldn't say "husband", and "Old Man" just made the age difference more obvious and twice as strange in the eyes of her school acquaintances. But that "boyfriend" word didn't convey what she wanted it to; the fact that she loved him on not just an emotional level, but on some basic, bio-chemical one that everyone around her found unhealthy but she was powerless to deny. The phrase "He's my Happy," didn't have the same effect in Sacramento that it did in Charming.

It was silent a beat, the sounds of garage office noise filling the void from the other line, and Ava sighed. "What is it, Mom? I know this isn't just a checkpoint call."

"Why do you always think the worst of me?"

"Mom."

"_She's _here. All bright and early and shit."

This was one of those times when Ava wondered who was parenting whom in this mother/daughter relationship. _She _was most certainly _the tart _as Gemma liked to call her; Tig's mysterious girlfriend she hadn't met yet. The details had been sketchy, but sometime in the past year that Ava had been away at school, Tig had acquired a regular, steady girlfriend, and though Gemma had grudgingly admitted that she'd helped the club out of a tight spot with the feds, the Old Ladies were not fans of Holly – that was her name – Holly Something-or-other. Ava had been home for long weekends or holidays, but their paths had never crossed. She didn't know how she felt about this Holly yet, but if her mother and cousin were so disapproving, it was hard to be impartial on the whole thing.

Ava snorted. "Are you being nice?"

"I'm always nice. I'm super fucking nice."

"Well, I'm expecting a fire breathing dragon the way you and Gem have talked her up. I'm not gonna have to slug this bitch, am I?"

Maggie sighed. "No. She's…helpful."

She bit back a laugh. She hadn't said anything, yet, but Ava had a feeling her mother's dislike for this girl was a little more personal in nature, and that it involved Charming's resident jackass. "Well, I'll get to meet her tonight, right?"

"Yep. Which reminds me, can you guys stop and pick up more paper plates on your way in? It's gonna be a huge goddamn party."

**-O-**

Holly wasn't liked by all of the Crow Eaters, but she got along with most of them. Carmen had been around for awhile and the two of them had developed an efficient working relationship when it came to party prep. Holly was unwrapping the various cuts of meat and placing them in Ziploc bags of brine which Carmen then organized along the bottom shelf in the fridge. It would be pork chops tonight with thick-sliced russet potatoes and roasted veggies.

As she worked, Holly couldn't help but mull over Tig's strange visit that morning. Granted, most of Tig's visits were strange by normal definitions, but that had never bothered her. Tig was just Tig, and all his little hang-ups and idiosyncrasies had come through for her on more than one occasion. She loved him, loved her new life with SAMCRO, and spent nearly every waking moment thinking of ways to keep him happy and stay out of the Gemma Teller-Morrow's crosshairs. This morning, though, something had been off.

Tig revered Gemma, and her younger cousin Maggie for that matter. Those two were allowed to make Holly's life as difficult as possible without any protests from the Sgt at Arms. They had a hold over him. So when either of the Lawson cousins mentioned the oh so revered darling of Charming – Ava Telford Morales – Holly had always assumed that Chibs' daughter likewise belonged on the panel of women who had a firm grip on one of Tig's leashes.

But Tig had been snarling into his coffee this morning when he'd broached the subject of Ava. The way Holly understood it, the girl was a member's daughter and one of Tig's closest brother's Old Ladies. So his animosity was a mystery. And though she shouldn't – though she knew it was disrespectful to Tig – she couldn't keep from digging just a little bit.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Carmen said, frowning as she forced another brine-soaked pork chop baggie into the fridge.

"Um…" this felt wrong ", what do you know about Happy's Old Lady?"

The sweetbutt chuckled and paused in her task, a slim hand landing on her hip. "You got an hour?"

"That bad, huh?"

"That is a _crazy _story, girl. C'mon. Let's grab a beer and I fill ya in."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Sorry so slow on the update, for those who care. Just haven't been feeling inspired with this one…you know…since it's so unoriginal…ha ha!

Ok, I kid. But just a reminder for those who don't know, the OCs in this story are all from previously published stories and are NOT new characters. Hate 'em or love 'em, but these chicks have been kicking around in my head for a loooong time.

**Thanks for the love, ladies!**

…

After talking to Carmen, and then mulling over the destined-for-Hollywood tale that was Happy and his much too young Old Lady, Holly had created a mental picture of the girl in her head. Some sort of cross between Xena and Rambo; combat boots, camouflage pants and all. Some kind of over the top badass with a knife on her hip and a twisted scar on her face. The girl she was looking at, however, stealing glimpses of from across the crowded, smoky clubhouse, was all American sweetheart through and through.

They didn't look right together, Happy and his girl. She was quite pretty, actually, tall and lean; all long legs and curves popping in just the right places. It was a little spooky to see so much of her father in her face; the eyes and the eyebrows. Her hair was the color and finish of Gemma's dining room table and fell in silky, layered sheets down her back. She was in heather leggings and black boots, white tank top, a flashy, man's gold ring on a chain around her neck. But all of that was superficial. It was the way she interacted with her Old Man that had Holly spying on the girl from her vantage point over by the jukebox.

Ava – that was her name – stared at Happy like he was the sun of her universe. She followed him throughout the room, one of his arms held in both of hers, not in an obedient, heeling dog fashion. But neither did she strut or flaunt like Holly would have expected a girl her age to. The age difference was disturbing to her. Nineteen-year-olds didn't possess the emotional fortitude or maturity to withstand the hardships of being Old Ladies. Likewise, how could these two have a thing in common? But it wasn't a smug youth flashing grins over her "bad boy" catch who trailed along on Happy's arm. And he wasn't the domineering asshole showing off his prize as he stopped to talk to his brothers. It was something different; something oddly endearing about the way they interacted.

The small touches, kisses and looks were so mutual, so blatant in complete adoration, that it was hard to watch and not be almost envious. Holly didn't think that way, it wasn't in her nature, but Tig certainly didn't hold her so precious as Happy did his Old Lady.

And the other Sons seemed to love Ava too, though not as intensely. She earned hugs from Jax – her cousin; Chibs – her father; and the other guys were all smiles and shoulder slugs. Holly had heard the talk and had assumed, but now she could see the real thing for herself; Ava truly was a princess. Everyone loved her…well…almost everyone.

"What the hell are you doin' over here in the corner?" Tig's voice punched through her thoughts and she jerked to attention, finding him with one hand braced on the jukebox beside her head, leaning toward her as he scanned the crowd. He spared her a curious look. "You feel okay? You've been weird lately."

Holly smiled out of reflex. "Yeah," she reached to smooth the rolled sleeve of his staple blue shirt and he flinched, but didn't move away. "Just tired I guess."

"Yeah?" He half smiled. "'Cause it looked like you were giving Hap's kid the evil eye."

She sighed. "I wasn't doing that."

His smile stretched and she knew that for whatever reason he didn't like Ava, he was hoping she'd join him in that opinion. "Sure you were." He shrugged. "And that's okay."

"No it's not, Tig," she scolded, but was careful to keep her tone light. "All the shitty people I've know, it'd be wrong to judge a member of your club _family _without knowing her."

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "You are so goddamn annoying with that sweet shit." But she waited, and after a loaded pause, he leaned down and kissed her. When he straightened, his hand fell and he smacked her lightly on the ass. "Go get me another beer, sweetheart."

Holly knew that there were other women who would have already walked. He was hard to read, cold, quick-tempered. But those women wouldn't have noticed the slight softening in his eyes as they raked over her, or how his hand lingered just a moment. Later, after a couple more beers and when he was away from the public eye, he'd remind her that she actually was wanted. And when she heard his even breathing beside her, she would know, as always, that no feeling in the world could trump the security he offered.

"I'll be back," she promised, heading for the bar with his empty bottle.

**-O-**

Ava loved being home. She had to commend Hap's effort – she often did in a very obvious, Victoria's Secret inspired way – because when he wasn't on the road, he was in Sacramento with her at her quasi shitty apartment. She loved the one-on-one time with him, those were moments she would treasure, but he didn't belong there. He wasn't going to complain, he wasn't going anywhere, but he was so completely, one hundred percent one percenter, that she knew he struggled with the more suburban environment. Not to mention he was losing patience with the odd looks of the neighbors.

But at home, in Charming, hanging around the clubhouse, drinking and smoking, she could feel the tension seep out of his hard muscles. Ava managed better than he did, but she was fooling herself if she thought she was part of the "it" crowd. She was SOA by blood and tonight was just as much of a huge sigh of relief for her as it was for him.

They were on one of the leather sofas and she was cuddled up to his side, arm around his waist, a leg hooked over one of his. Hap's fingers rubbed easy circles on her arm and Ava was in heaven. Hap was talking to Bobby and Opie about something she wasn't paying attention to, instead toying with a little tear in his t-shirt and watching the shuffling crowd of Sons and women with relaxed disinterest.

Movement at the bar caught her attention and she recognized the girl she'd seen only glimpses of throughout the party; Tig's girlfriend.

Ava had tried to set aside her personal feelings about Tig in order to come up with an objective mental picture of Holly, but she hadn't been able to. And now, instead of a washed up porn star or dominatrix wannabe in black leather, here was this reserved, understatedly beautiful brunette in the jeans and blue tank top.

She was young too, not as young as she was, but younger than Maggie and Gemma; had to be late twenties or early thirties. Though she had no delusions about the caliber of hooker whose company Tig enjoyed on occasion, Ava hadn't expected him to have a steady girl of any kind of class. How could anyone put up with that sick asshole for any length of time? She felt a little sorry for this chick, actually. Was Tig, by some stroke of heavenly intervention, behaving so far? If so, then it was only a matter of time before the real Tig came out and sent Holly running.

"Hey." Hap thumped her lightly on the hip with his palm. "Mom wants you."

She scanned the room and saw Maggie at a table with Gemma, both of whom were beckoning her. Maggie with a wave. Gemma with a look.

Ava sighed as she stood, pausing to put a hand on Hap's chest and lean in for a kiss. "I'll be back," she promised.

He flashed a rare grin. "No you won't."

She sighed as she walked away, knowing he was right. She hadn't spent more than a few minutes with her mother among the rush of preparation, so Maggie wasn't likely to turn her loose soon. She was already feeling a little jealous of Happy for "stealing her away", even though it had never been his idea she go to college.

"You do not get to suck face in the corner all night," Maggie chastised as Ava pulled out a chair at their table and sat down. "You've been playing house with him for _six _semesters and it is my turn now. I'll arm wrestle him over it at this point."

Ava shot Gemma a curious look and saw the Queen's equally amused expression.

Gemma tilted her head, her smile wry. "Your mother's been a little…"

"Go ahead, you can say crazy," Maggie snorted.

"I believe your husband said 'bound for the loony bin'."

"Jeez, Mom," Ava said, straight-faced. "What are you gonna do when we move to Utah?"

"Well, I'd assume you'd have to share him with his five other wives, but what were you thinking?" Maggie fired back with a smirk.

"Touché."

"Hey, you go Mormon, you can write teenager vampire books. I can see it now; the delusional teen and her undead, biker lover. His tattoos can glitter."

"Ha ha," Ava made a sour face. "I'm a _writer_, Mom, don't insult me like that." She pushed up from the table and her mother's face fell.

"Hold up, where are you going?"

"To get a beer," she looked between the two women. "I'd like to get tanked up if I'm gonna sit here and be abused."

"Poor baby," Gemma waved her off. "Bring us all one."

There was a crowd at the bar, all the stools taken, so Ava chose the path of least resistance, so to speak, cleaving shoulders apart like she was a diver as she wormed her way between Juice and Tux so she could slap a loud palm down on the bar top.

"That was subtle," Juice glanced over from his beer and rolled his eyes at her.

"I know," she grinned back. "Hey, Prospect!"

Carter Michaels had earned many nicknames since the very beginning of his stint as a hangaround a year before. Most of them weren't worth repeating, but a few were starting to stick now that he'd been invited in as a Prospect. "Jock", "Jockstrap", and "Preppy" were the current running favorites; though Tig usually went with "Pretty Boy Douche-face". Ava hid her smile behind a hand as she watched him fumble the bourbon bottle in his hands. It would never seem right to see him with his cut and its lonely bottom rocker. Once so distant from her world, he'd now been swallowed up by it; a failure to society, but a triumph of personality in the way he'd overcome his stereotype and come to her aide.

He turned around, managing to get the bourbon back on the bar and out of danger. "Oh, hey, Ava!" he smiled broadly. "What time did you get in?"

"Earlier. You were busy."

"He's busy now," Chibs spoke up on the other side of Juice. "So, grunt, get the lady a drink and get back to work."

Ava sighed. "He's not scary," she stage whispered to Carter.

"I know," he nodded, serious. His eyes flicked across the room and then back. "Trust me, I know."

She grinned. Carter was scared shitless of Happy for some reason. "Three Bud Lights," she told him ",caps off if you would." She drummed her fingers on the bar as she waited, and then again spotted Tig's girl. She had snuck in behind the bar and pulled a beer out of the cooler. Ava watched Carter smile and wave for her to go first, letting her bend and pull two long-neck Buds out before retrieving the ones she'd asked for.

Ava frowned. Why was this chick not asking the Prospect like she was? Little Miss Serve Yourself was either bold, or not comfortable with pushing her way through the crowd. She decided to end the mystery, though, as she accepted the three frosted bottles. "Thanks, dude," she told Carter and then slipped from her post, heading around the bar to intercept Holly.

The other girl was walking with her head held low, just high enough not to run into anyone, but not sharing in the camaraderie that went on around her. She didn't seem to notice Ava as she approached her from the side.

"Holly."

The curvy brunette halted, head swiveling around at the no doubt foreign voice. Her eyes were vivid green, almost a sea foam color, and wide with shock. Her lips were drawn up into a little "o", and Ava thought her surprise seemed like overkill. This _was _the clubhouse; surely this chick was approached by strangers on a routine basis. Plus, it was a bit insulting to be looked at like the boogeyman in her own goddamn home.

"I wanted to introduce myself," Ava consolidated the three beers in one arm. "I figured I'd come say 'hi'. I'm Ava."

Holly said nothing.

Ava extended her shaking hand a little further. "Hap's Old Lady? Chibs' daughter?" she prodded.

Holly frowned, nibbled at her bottom lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and then promptly walked away.

**-O-**

Holly felt terrible. "Tig," she tried to keep the unhappiness from her voice as she passed him his beer. "I just bumped into Ava and I had to _walk away_."

He shrugged as he twisted the cap off his Budweiser. "So? Good girl."

"No, not good girl," she fussed, folding her arms. "I was rude to her and now not only will she make Happy hate me, but Gemma and Maggie will just get worse with the dirty looks."

He rolled his eyes. "No one hates you or gives you dirty looks."

"Tig -,"

"Nah, nah, nah. You have got to stop worrying about what people think of you, Hol." He straightened up from his reclined position against the wall, signaling that this exchange was about to end. "You did the right thing, end of story."

"Tig," she sighed, raking her hair off his face. "If you think it's the right thing, well, then…" she trailed off when she saw him giving her the evil eye, but then scowled. She was patient to a fault with him most of the time, but she did have a limit, and his stubborn ass was butting up against it big time tonight. "I'm not going to be mean to a nineteen-year-old," she said with a little added force. "I don't know why you can't stand her, but until proven otherwise, I'm gonna assume she's nice."

Tig sneered. "I don't have to _prove _anything. That little crazy bitch is nothing but trouble and you're supposed to take my word for it. So…take it!"

"Yeah," she said with a defeated sigh, leaning back against the wall as he stalked off.

**-O-**

"Offended" was too vague a word for Ava's current state. She slammed the three beers down on the table, flopping down into her chair with one of those squealed, indignant snarls she accused airhead bimbos of having. "I can not _believe _-," she started and then caught herself. _Put that cheerleader shit in reverse, _she reminded, but still couldn't smooth out her curled lip when she faced Maggie and Gemma.

Both women were giving her curious looks. "What?" Gemma asked, voice hinting she was not impressed with her teenage show of aggravation.

Ava took a sip of her beer and a calming breath. Being away at school for so long really hadn't helped her mature very much. In fact, she knew now that she'd backslid. No longer as tight with the everyday goings on of the MC, she was losing some of her edge – which also pissed her off and added to her current mood.

"Tig's girlfriend," she explained, shaking her head. "I tried to introduce myself and the freak looked right at me, wouldn't say a word, and just walked off."

Maggie pulled a disgusted face. "She didn't say a_nything_? Ugh. No wonder Tig keeps her around; socially cripple just like he is."

Gemma's lips were pursed. She's got balls, I will say that, she just don't get 'em out very often."

"It was just rude!" Ava threw her arms up. "I can catch that shit at school…I don't need it at home."

"Well," Maggie patted her consolingly on the arm. "Tig won't make it official so she's not around that much. Don't worry, baby, you won't have to deal with her anymore."

**-O-**

"Killa," Koz leaned across the wooden coffee table to exchange a slap-and-slide palm shake with Hap before he sat down on the couch beside Opie. He grinned as he lifted his beer bottle. "How's Sacramento? You little housewife, you."

Hap snorted and arched a brow in warning. "You really wanna go there?"

He shook his head. "Nope." Opie chuckled beside him with a little _you're gonna get your ass beat _grin.

"It's boring as shit, man," Hap continued. "Got runs every couple of weeks, and then I'm in Charming helpin' Jax a lot, but shit, do you know how bad daytime TV is?"

The other guys sitting around them laughed.

"I hear," Koz said with a wink ", that there's some serious competition over there."

Hap sighed. "Ava tell you about that?"

"I got the teenage girl version. I want the _real _story, bro."

Ava had fussed at him, but only superficially. He'd seen that shine in her eyes; the one that loved the fact that he was so willing to use violence as a first ditch effort. And she did love when he staked claim on his territory. It would have felt manipulative coming from anyone else, but Ava had been around him so long there was just a sick streak in her that liked the action. He wondered, in retrospect, if she'd instigated the final blowup between him and their downstairs asshole neighbor, but either way, he'd do it again.

"Jesus," he rolled his eyes. "She decides she's gonna go wash the truck in these hoochie mama shorts and her bikini top…"

**-O-**

Nearly an hour after it happened, Ava was still a little ticked by her run-in with Holly. There was nothing to be done about it. And she wasn't a member of the Tigger Fan Club anyway, so what was the big loss? Still, it got under her skin a little bit to think that Tig disliked her so much he'd turn his girlfriend against her. SAMCRO was a family, and you loved your family, even when you hated them; you didn't say nasty shit to your significant other about how cool it would be to give a brother's Old Lady the cold shoulder.

She was headed back toward Hap where he'd amassed a small gathering; Bobby, Opie, Koz, Juice and Tux. She frowned in amused confusion; Happy didn't hold court. He was always the guy nodding and adding an "uh-huh" to the conversation. But he had their attention about something, and Juice was grinning ear to ear.

"Are you serious?" Bobby asked as she slipped between the arms of the sofas and went to Hap. She motioned for Juice to scoot over and then she sat between them, hand on Hap's leg.

Happy nodded, cracking a sideways, slightly demented grin. "He cried," he said with a deep-throated chuckle that was laced with a kind of delight only he could show.

Ava rolled her eyes, but smiled, knowing what he was talking about. A few weeks prior, Hap had finally snapped on their "douchebag ass-clown" downstairs neighbor. It had been a sunny Saturday and Hap was home from a long run, facedown in the pillows and bitching about how bright it was. Ava had decided to let him sleep and had dressed in cutoffs and a bikini top, anxious to try and darken some of her whiter-than-white skin while she gave her truck a much needed bath. She had been working on the black spokes of her wheels, arms dripping with frothy soap up to her elbows, and had stood to readjust her shades, when she'd seen Mike walking towards her.

Single, mid-twenties, handsome in a painful sort of way, Mike had been "accidently" bumping into her at the bottom of her staircase since he'd moved in. Hap had been instantly suspicious, hating the "pretty boy" on sight. To Hap, anyone not a biker was a pretty boy and therefore not to be trusted. In his world of gangsters and thugs, it was the so-called normal people who weren't to be trusted.

"You know how many goddamn serial killers looked like Mr. Rogers?" he'd asked her when the subject of Mike had come up at dinner. "Sociopathic monsters are always the clean-cut types." He'd waved his forkful of frozen lasagna at her, eyes dead serious. "Don't trust that fucker, Ava. He's _no good._"

That little conversation had launched an afternoon's worth of study time in the library researching serial killers. And Hap was right, just like Hap was always right. Thugs robbed liquor stores and held up old ladies. But the super creeps…they were always straight-laced, many of them handsome. Now, that didn't mean that Mike was a sociopathic serial killer, but it had raised her hackles to see him coming up and resting his knuckles against the shiny chrome grill of her truck.

"This is such a sweet ride," he'd said with a whistle, clearly eyeing her instead of the car.

"Thanks," she'd dropped the sponge back in the bucket of suds and eyed the window to her apartment. Happy was probably dead to the world. Damnit, he couldn't insinuate that their neighbor was a serial killer and then go to sleep! "My _boyfriend _fixed it up for me," she'd stressed the word heavily.

It had seemed too blatantly rude to run him off on an unsubstantiated claim, so Ava had been careful to never present her back to him as she worked on her truck, tolerating his chit-chat. Hap, however, had not been so tolerant when he'd made an appearance about ten minutes later. Ava had watched, unable to do anything but smile with deep satisfaction that her man loved her so much when Hap had steered Mike back toward his apartment. She had not heard what was said or done, and she hadn't asked, but the next time she saw Mike, he was sporting a shiner and had hastened to get away from her.

Ava rested her head against his shoulder as the other guys laughed around them. It was so good to be home, even if Holly had been rude. She thought she spotted her across the room, but wasn't sure. _Oh well, _she thought. _Who wants to be friends with Tig's girl anyway?_

**-O-**

Holly was awakened by Tig's snoring. She stirred, blinking against the grit in her eyes, and came to with her face on the mattress, feet on the pillow, staring at his knees. Something heavy was draped across the backs of her calves; his arm.

She groaned and managed to crawl out of bed without waking him. She smiled to herself as she stretched her arms overhead and wiggled her fingers back to life. Grumpy asshole that he was in public, he more than made up for it behind closed doors.

It was early, the floorboards cool under her feet, the morning sky beyond the thinly curtained windows still tinged with gray. Around her, the clubhouse slept; the odd thump or shift of old wood the only sounds. That and Tig's snoring. Holly pulled on last night's jeans and his black t-shirt, grabbed a flannel overshirt out of the stash he kept in the dorm closet, and then went down the empty hall in search of coffee.

She could smell the Maxwell House before she reached the kitchen; Gemma up ahead of her loyal subjects as per usual. Holly self-consciously smoothed her rumpled hair as she rounded the corner. She would help the Queen make breakfast and then go home; catch some real sleep before her shift at the bar that night.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she was met by the sight of a dark-haired woman at the counter; long bare legs disappearing up into the man's shirt she wore. But it wasn't Gemma. As she put the coffee pot back on the warmer, Ava turned, and then her sleepy expression was replaced with one of annoyance as she spotted Holly.

"Hey," she said roughly, taking a step toward the door.

"Ava," Holly shot out a hand. "Wait, please. I…shit, I'm sorry about last night. Can we start over?"

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **I apologize in advance because this is so short. I'll try to make up for it next time!

…

Ava wished she'd put some real pants on and not just her skimpy sleep shorts. It was a cool desert morning outside, the sun barely up and just peeking at them along the horizon. She'd suggested a change of venue away from the snoring bikers in the common room and now sat on top of a picnic table, shivering and sipping her coffee, staring at Holly who was poised on the adjacent table, trying to figure out where she'd gotten the little fishhook scar that marred her pretty face.

So far, this "starting over" business had led to absolutely no talking of any kind. Just blank staring on her part – a bit of disgust at the thought of Tig's mouth making those dark marks on the older girl's neck – and nervous, shifting glances from Holly.

Finally, Ava could take it no longer and broke the silence. "So…was there something you wanted to say? Or…" she twirled a hand through the air.

Holly pulled in a huge breath, rested her hands over her denim-clad knees, and made steady eye contact for the first time. "I'm sorry. Really. It's just Tig asked me…well, I just wanted to apologize for my weirdness last night. I'm not like that normally."

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"No," she sighed. "I didn't mean to offend you."

_Excuses, excuses_. "Whatever." Ava hopped off the table. It was too early, too cold, and if she went back to bed, she could spend the next hour cuddled up to her sleeping Old Man while he pretended he didn't like to snuggle.

"Ava, please," Holly sounded almost desperate as she started to walk away.

She halted, giving her a sideways look.

"Your mother can't stand me. Gemma barely tolerates me. Trust me when I tell you that I want nothing more than to fit in around here and it wasn't my idea to be a bitch. You don't have to believe me, but I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your idea? I don't see any strings, Pinocchio."

"You're the princess," Holly said quietly, looking away. "I get that. But I don't have the same freedoms around here. I'm just trying to keep…people…happy."

_People. _More like _person. _Ava frowned, wrapping her hands around her warm mug to fight off the chill. "Are we talking about Tig here? Did he tell you to avoid me?"

Holly raised her mug to her lips and sipped, silent.

Ava sighed. "If this is on that asshole, I can understand. But I'll warn you that 'keeping him happy' probably isn't possible."

She half-turned, frowning in a way that was almost delicate and not threatening. "You wouldn't do what Happy asked?"

Ava frowned too. "Well, yeah, but that's different."

"How?"

"I'm his Old Lady."

**-O-**

Holly closed the door to Tig's dorm room softly behind her, leaning back against it a moment and staring at his sleeping, half-covered form on the bed. There were just things the two of them didn't talk about. At least, Tig didn't talk about them. She kept her more emotional side in check, only busting out the big words when the need to inform him of her feelings became overwhelming. She didn't quite understand it sometimes, but she felt the way she felt and couldn't change it. Didn't want to. Her life had been utter and complete shit before Tig had come into the bar in Lodi that night.

But all the good things, the now treasured parts of her life were private, just between the two of them. He would not call her his Old Lady. She was nothing more than an extra pair of hands and a pack mule for the club. Outsiders – people like Ava Telford – didn't know how jealous he became. Didn't know that in his own way, Tig had moments of sweetness.

He shifted and she realized he'd been awake the whole time. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice muffled by the pillow.

Holly sighed. Tig had this way of asking about her in a manner that made it sound like she was doing something wrong. She had learned, however, that his true intent was just to check on her, to initiate conversation. "Coffee," she explained. "I think I'm gonna head out."

"Thought you wanted me to look at the faucet in the bathroom."

Tig was weird about repairmen; always said they turned a minor problem into a huge catastrophe just so they could jack the bill up. "Yeah, but it can wait until tomorrow."

"Nah." He was still on his side, eyes shut, not looking at her, but slapped the empty space on the bed next to him. "I'll go back with you in a little while. Check it out."

Holly smiled to herself as she undressed. Ava had no idea.

**-O-**

Happy still looked to be asleep when Ava slipped back into the dorm. On his back, sheet down low around his narrow hips, tattooed chest rising and falling evenly.

_Princess _Holly had called her. She frowned now at the thought, setting her coffee mug on the nightstand. Like hell she was a princess of any kind. The crazy whirlwind that had been her life up to this point; more grief and worry packed into nineteen years than most saw in a lifetime. She had scrapped and fought – had literally killed – for all she had now. Her life, her family, her man who made a face in his sleep as he rolled over onto his side.

Worry tickled at the pit of her stomach when she saw his slight, unconscious wince. His left leg would never be the same again. He concealed his limp well. Still ran, worked out. He was seemingly unchanged, but she knew that it was stiff in the mornings. Had seen him hesitate, feet on the floor, but not able to spring out of bed just yet. He held the role of parent in this unnatural thing they had together, but sometimes she swore her anxiety for him was almost maternal. Which was stupid because she didn't even know what that felt like; only that her sudden, brief miscarriage had left behind a stirring of faint emotions she didn't know how to classify.

She lifted she sheet and slid back into bed, not surprised or startled when Hap's eyes flipped open.

"Where you been?" his voice was a like a diesel engine coming to life first thing in the morning.

"Coffee." She slid her arm under his, around his back, and snuggled up to his chest.

Rather than protest, his arm closed around her. She felt his hand in her hair. He'd told her – and she was pretty sure he'd been drunk at the time – that he didn't mind her cuddliness so much; she was his and she'd deserved it. Deserved it – therefore, _not a princess. _She inhaled, he smelled like clinging cigarette smoke and deodorant, and turned her head so she could see the little pale scar on his shoulder. The bullet wound. And above it, the little black "A" he'd had tattooed. No one had ever noticed the letter, and if they had, they wouldn't have known its significance. He hadn't ever talked about it with her, she'd just seen it, and had known. It was for her; just a hidden little memento amongst all his other ink work.

"Am I a brat?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He chuckled and it sent a shiver through her. "A little bit."

"No, I'm serious. Am I some horrible, spoiled rotten little bitch?"

He pushed her back so he could see her and when she glanced up at him, he was frowning. "Where's this comin' from?" His eyes narrowed. "Someone call you a brat?"

"Not really." She scrunched up her nose. "More like a 'princess'."

"Did you leave 'em breathin'?"

Ava rolled her eyes. "You're not funny."

"Hey." He reached down and squeezed her hip through his t-shirt that she wore. "If you're a brat, it's my doin'." His face was serious. "I can spoil ya if I want."

That wasn't the type of brat she'd had in mind, and though chances were Hap knew that too, he was trying to cheer her up. She smiled.

"Don't worry about it," he pulled her back to him again. "You're a good girl."

**-O-**

The quiet, peaceful morning lasted only an hour or so more before Gemma started rounding up her posse. "What can I do?" Holly asked, tying her still damp hair up into a ponytail as she entered the kitchen.

The other Old Ladies were pouring coffee. Maggie was scraping what were most likely eggs over at the stove. Holly could hear the growing clamor of male voices out in the common room.

Gemma glanced up, coffee pot in hand. "I need someone to run out and pick up some shit at the bakery. Doughnuts, bagels, something. I didn't know we'd have so many for breakfast."

"Got it," Holly nodded, grabbing her purse off the counter where she'd left it the night before.

"Oh," Gemma added as she turned to leave. "Take Ava. You'll need an extra set of hands and she just tends to set off the smoke alarms in here."

As if scripted, Ava appeared in the kitchen doorway, slipping her tight leather jacket on. "What did you need, Gem?"

"Go with Holly."

The girls eyed one another a moment, faces blank. Finally, Holly pulled her keys from her bag. "Mind if I drive?"

"Sure." Ava turned and headed for the door – quickly – no chance on keeping pace with her.

Gemma offered a small, smirking grin. "You wanted to be family…"

"I know," Holly sighed. "I know."

**-O-**

"Well _that _doesn't look promising," Koz said with a snort, watching as Hap's and Tig's respective girls left the clubhouse together. If the word "together" could even be used.

Bobby lowered his paper and joined his assessment. "Nope," he returned to the society section. "It doesn't."

**-O-**

"Really, Gem?" Maggie questioned. "You think that's some kind of plan, throw them together and hope they don't claw each other too badly?"

"Holly is an asset," Gemma said sensibly. "If Tig hasn't dropped her yet he isn't going to. One of these days, he'll wake the hell up and use the dreaded _OL_ title. She's a hard worker, loyal to the club. I don't want some bullshit drama with Ava to mess that up."

"Well, it's not like we _need _her around."

The Queen rolled her eyes. "And I wonder where your kid gets it. Think that's just your green eyed monster talkin'."

"I am not jealous," Maggie's laugh wasn't convincing.

"Sure, baby."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

In the passenger seat of Holly's Camaro, Ava tapped her fingers along the arm rest and stared through the window, watching Charming wake up to a lazy Saturday morning around them. They hadn't spoken a word other than for Holly to tell her that the passenger seatbelt didn't work anymore. Holly had pushed a cassette tape – Ava felt like she'd been transported back in time – into the deck and they were now serenaded by Deep Purple. Hap would have loved this; the '71 Chevy and one of his favorite bands. Oh how she wished it was him behind the wheel and not the girl who seemed too damn sedate to appreciate a car like this.

Deep down, under her aggravation and distrust, Ava was feeling a bit guilty about being rude to Holly. But just when an apology started to form, her anxiety over strangers kicked back into high gear. So they sat, painfully, for the ten minute drive across town to Rose's. God, it was _awkward_. Ava didn't like awkward. Awkward was making small talk with her Thursday night study group and trying to appease Hap because although he'd insisted they hold the pow wow at their apartment, he kept sizing up the kids like he was measuring them for coffins. So no, awkward was not cool.

"Where'd you get this car?" she finally asked, kicking herself.

But Holly's response was smooth, like she hadn't expected any more or any less. "It was my mom's."

"How much begging did you have to do to get her to hand it over?"

"She died."

"Oh. Sorry."

Holly shrugged behind the wheel, face pleasant as she checked the intersection they'd pulled up to. "I was eight, so I don't remember much."

_Damnit, that was awkward! _Almost as bad as when Hap had leaned over the back of the couch and asked Ben Stanton how much he weighed. She leaned back against the seat, staring out the window again. "Really, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'd do without Mom."

"You two are close." An observation, not a question.

"Too close sometimes, I think."

Holly twitched a half smile, her little scar twisting up. "Maggie's been talking nonstop about you coming home for the semester. She was very excited."

"Saying she's 'family oriented' would be the understatement of the year."

It was quiet another moment, though decidedly not so heavy with tension. "It's really great," Holly said ", that you have so many people who love you."

"Yeah." She glanced over, watching the brunette's face for signs of some emotional giveaway.

Holly sighed. "Really great."

The hint of sadness in her voice sparked a true curiosity in Ava; an innocent one that eased some of her trepidation for a moment. "Do you have family? Here in Charming or somewhere else?"

"Nope," Holly's answer was fast. "Just me."

Ava was stunned. She honestly had no idea what that felt like. Even before Charming, in Seattle, she'd had her mother and grandmother, three Tacoma Sons wrapped around her little finger, hell, even the occasional visit from her dad. The thought of not having a family was frightening. "Damn," she said.

Holly shrugged and the Camaro slowed – Ava realized they were pulling up to Rose's – she slid it into park and the engine grumbled down an octave. "I have Tig now. Well, I mean, _he _has _me_, but I think that feels like family."

_She _thinks_ it feels like family? _Ava bit her tongue to keep her gasp at bay. And she thought _she _was messed up.

**-O-**

When he passed the kitchen on his way down the hall, the chatter of female voices made Tig's decision about more coffee an easy one. It was a safer bet to go sit down and wait for a Crow Eater to bring the pot around in a minute. All the guys were seated somewhere along the ring of sofas and chairs that circled the TV. Spike's Saturday _Powerblock _was on; the back to back string of hot rod and truck shows with the blond pin-up on hosting duty.

Juice was asleep again, or still asleep, whatever. Hap had a chair. Bobby had a chair. Jax, Chibs and Ope had one sofa. Which left…a nice empty spot on the couch next to Kozik. Fantastic.

As if on cue, Koz glanced up with a _gotcha _grin. "Don't worry," he smacked the leather seat of the couch beside him. "I saved ya a seat, Tiggy."

"Nah." He folded his arms, mug resting in the crook of one elbow. "Think I'll stand. I'm allergic to whatever the fuck you put in your hair."

"A'ight, cool it you two," Jax said with a warning look.

Chibs pointed at the TV. "Aye. Girlie's gettin' ready to check the dipstick."

Sure enough, on screen, the blond was leaned over the open hood of an old Roadrunner, fake tits threatening to come falling out of her threadbare tank top. It was an effective distraction and Tig walked over and smacked Juice lightly in the back of the head.

He came awake with a snort, fumbling up on his elbows and blinking. "What?" he groaned.

"Move over, dumbass," Tig shoved him and he obliged, sitting up and scooting over. When he was seated, he saw the Koz was smirking at him and he glared. "What the fuck you lookin' at?"

"Why you gotta pick on the mentally challenged?" he waved his mug toward Juice, earning a sigh and an eye roll from said biker.

"Guess I better quit talkin' to you then, huh?"

"Guys!" Jax got that tight, _listen-to-me-dammit! _quality to his voice. "It's not even ten in the morning. That's enough."

A Crow Eater – the leggy blond who Holly always hung with – approached with a coffee pot, thankfully disrupting the tension. Tig absently scanned her body, his usual tits and ass inspection, while she filled his mug and found himself frowning. Holly was always flittering about the mornings after parties, trying to earn some kind of goddamn status as a maid he didn't understand her need for. She was just so damn _helpful. _It was annoying. Almost as annoying as the fact that she wasn't here now and he didn't know where she was.

"Where's Holly?" he finally asked the girl, hating the words the moment they were out of his mouth.

Before she could answer, Hap spoke, the girl jumping a bit at his voice. Hap didn't talk very often in group settings, but when he did, he had everyone's attention. "Gemma sent her out after doughnuts with Ava."

_Shit! _Just what he had tried to prevent. "How do you know that?" On the false hope that maybe, for once, Hap didn't know where his girl was.

Hap's brows lowered just that tiny bit that meant he knew something was off with him, but wasn't going to ask. "Kid called me."

Of course she did. Those fucking love birds. Little brat had Happy wrapped fifteen times around her finger. Which was exactly the reason Tig _did not want _Holly out with Ava.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" Juice asked like he was reluctant to know the answer.

"Your future bride pisses me off."

**-O-**

The bakery was crammed with bodies; mostly construction workers loading up on coffee and doughnuts before they hit the work sites. But there were families too – parents on the way to ballet or karate with kids decked out in appropriate outfits, squished into the window tables with their bagels and milk. Holly had made this run at least fifty times and immediately went to the left of the long counter, toward the breads and more savory items, away from the treacherous pastry line.

She glanced over her shoulder to check for Ava. The teen had followed, stood now with her hands in the zippered, slash pockets of her leather jacket, staring up at the menu board above the counter.

"It's easier to come over here," Holly explained, earning a fast sweep of dark eyes. "I order the bagels, slip in a 'pretty please' for a few doughnuts…in and out in ten minutes tops."

"Awesome."

She sighed as she faced forward again, moving up in line. Why was this so awkward? Awkward was bad. Awkward was watching Tig scare paying customers off the bar during her shift because they were "creepy" according to him. Ava was Hap's Old Lady, who was one of Tig's brothers and friends. It should have been the most natural friendship in the world. And here it was awkward. Another time, another place, Holly might have been tempted to tell the spoiled teenage brat where to shove all her angsty bullshit…but this was an MC with a hierarchy and rules to follow. Ava was the Old Lady here. Ava had rank over her. And could make her life miserable if she wanted to.

The line moved again, now only one customer separating them from the cashier. Holly loved Rose's – the quaintness, the dueling smells of fresh coffee and sugar glaze. It was always about four degrees too warm inside, which she enjoyed, the floor-to-ceiling windows fogged with condensation. And more than all that, she loved being useful to the club. Because if she wasn't…well, she didn't want to think about that.

"Hey," the sleepy looking, twenty something girl behind the counter greeted, tucking a stray chunk of hair back into her green store visor. "What can I getcha?"

Holly ordered the standard mix of bagels and éclairs, reciting them from memory. Then she turned to Ava. "What do you and Happy want? Oh, and the blond guy. I haven't met him before."

Ava smiled, just a little. "Koz. Pretty boy blond with the douchey 'do? That's Koz. He'll want two jelly doughnuts. Get Hap a maple frosted. And I want chocolate frosted with sprinkles."

Holly grinned too. "That's what I always get."

"What?"

"Sprinkles."

Ava's smile got a tad wider. "Here," she pulled her snakeskin wallet out of her purse. "Lemme pay for this."

"Oh, no, I shouldn't -,"

"I want to," Ava continued. She pulled a Visa out and tapped at it with the ends of her chrome nails. "It's in Hap's name, but it's my cash. I wanna do it for all the guys."

Holly nodded, stepping aside as the cashier returned with their boxes. She watched Ava pass over her card and kept smiling. _I wanna do it for all the guys. _Teenager or not, they at least had that in common, and it was something she could work with.

**-O-**

Ava couldn't believe this was happening. Standing on the curb overgrown with grass, hands in her back pockets, she couldn't believe that she was staring at the Camaro's flat tire. Rose's was off the main drag of downtown Charming so they weren't in a traffic heavy area. Johnson street was quiet, bordered by trees and abandoned buildings that had slowly been overtaken by vegetation. It wasn't spooky – Ava kind of liked it actually – but what the fuck? Her quick trip with Holly had just been sideswiped by whatever little bit of shrapnel they'd run over.

"Well," Holly stood and brushed her hands off on the legs of her jeans. "It's flat."

_No shit. _"Yeah. I gathered."

Holly sighed as she walked around toward the trunk of the car. "You're quite the smartass, huh?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't wanna give me a chance," Holly didn't look up; sprung the trunk and began reaching for things ", that's fine. But you don't have to have an attitude about it."

She was too stunned to speak; caught somewhere between furious and ashamed. So she stood, staring, as Holly pulled out a jack and a wrench and came back around to the offensive tire. "I don't have an attitude," she said finally, but it was weak.

Holly spared her a flat look before crouching down.

Ava hunkered down beside her. "I _do not _have an attitude."

"Sure you do."

She frowned, watching the older girl lean down to place the jack.

"You don't know me."

"Exactly. And I could have thought you were a spoiled princess who gets everything she wants." Holly turned, face again carefully blank. "But I didn't do that. I waited to see what you were really like. I don't know Happy, but I didn't judge you according to him."

Ava sighed, loudly. She'd been caught in very logical crosshairs. "Tig and I…we don't get along."

"I gathered," she threw back her line from earlier, but with a smirking half grin.

They stared at one another a moment. Ava gave her a tight lipped non-smile. "It's hard for me to imagine anyone putting up with Tig for more than a minute."

Holly shrugged. "Happy scares the bejeesus out of me."

Ava couldn't help it…she laughed. "Oh, Christ…" she shook her head. "We got the real winners, huh?"

"Yeah," Holly chuckled too. "Alright, let's change this damn tire."

**-O-**

"So who were they sending again?" Holly asked before she popped the last bite of her chocolate frosted sprinkle doughnut into her mouth.

Ava held up a finger as she finished chewing and then swallowed. "Lowell," she said, reaching for the napkins they'd stacked on the hood of the car between them. They had kicked off their boots and were sitting on the edge of the windshield, eating their spoils. The lug nuts had been rusted and neither of them possessed the arm strength to get them loose. So now they were stuck. And oddly enough, Ava was okay with that.

"One of the guys can't come?"

"Chapel," she said, shaking her head. "And apparently the shop was flooded with annoying customers, so Mom couldn't come either."

"Well," now that the chilliness seemed to be thawing, Holly's curiosity was getting the better of her. "Story time?"

Ava quirked a brow in a gesture that was very reminiscent of her father. "You didn't get the whole sordid story from the Crow Eaters?"

"I got _their _version. Kinda wanted to hear the real version from the legend herself."

"Legend," Ava scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Let's just say that Hap and I made the figurative SAMCRO front page…but that's not a quick story."

Holly didn't say anything.

"You wanna hear about what happened to our downstairs neighbor?"

**-O-**

Jax paused with his lighter hovering in front of the cigarette between his lips. "Can you vouch for this guy?"

Further down the table, between Hap and Juice, Koz shrugged. "I dunno. He's only been with us a few weeks. From Salt Lake originally. But he takes care of shit, does what he's told." He tilted his head. "Better than that dumbass kid you've got hangin' around now."

"We could use more bodies," Bobby said. "And he's already a Prospect; won't have to deal with that hangaround shit."

Jax nodded. "Why are you guys cuttin' him loose?"

"Got three Prospects already," Koz said. "Don't need him."

"We can always toss him if he don't work," Chibs said sensibly.

"Yup." Jax lifted a hand. "New Prospect?"

_Yea_s went around the room and he banged the gavel, ending the meeting.

Happy left the chapel headed for the cigar box on the pool table and his phone. He had a text from Ava – not three minutes old – Lowell had not arrived yet, but not to worry, she was fine. "Goddamn junkie," he grumbled, slipping his phone in his pocket.

"He didn't show up yet?" Tig appeared beside him, collecting his own phone. He had that strange edge to his voice again, like when he'd asked where his bitch was.

"Nah. Accident on Main clogged up the whole goddamn town."

"Shit." Tig scrubbed a hand back through his hair, staring down at the table top.

Hap wasn't a person who pried, and he didn't really have feelings about other people's feelings…but Tig had been fucked up about something since the night before. "Hey, you a'ight?"

"Fine."

**-O-**

They decided to walk. Baking on the hood of the black Camaro had already forced them out of their jackets. Now Ava's tank top clung to her sweaty skin as they made their way along the store fronts of Main street.

"Do you ever shop in there?" Holly pointed toward the glass front display of The Painted Lady as they neared its awning. Her inquiries were a tad shy, not really prodding, but almost suggesting conversation. It was very unassuming.

"That's where I get most of my lingerie," Ava said, drawing up in front of the window and scanning the outfit on display. "They've got really cute clothes up front, but the stuff in the back…all unique. Can't find detail work on lace like that at Victoria's Secret."

Holly nodded, hands in her back pockets as she studied the little cropped denim jacket and silk screened halter top paired with it. "I don't do a whole lot of shopping," she said quietly.

"It's pretty impossible to tell Gemma 'no' when she throws out the invitation."

"I can imagine."

Ava debated a moment, watching her stare through the windows. God, was this chick living off Tig's dime and he didn't buy her anything? Surely not… "Hey, you wanna go in?"

Holly's head whipped around. "Oh…no, it's okay."

"We have time. Not like we have the food with us. Lowell can pick up the car without us."

Holly chewed at her lip a moment. Brushed aside her long bangs. "Happy won't be pissed?"

"Hey," Ava said with a smug grin. "I'm a spoiled brat, remember? He can't stay pissed at me." That earned her a smile and she took the initiative, opening the door with a jangle of bells.

**-O-**

Happy was tugging on his gloves when his phone rang. Fuck Lowell and his slow ass not being able to get to the car. He'd pick Ava up on his bike. He frowned when he saw her name on the ID display. "You okay?"

He could swear he heard the roll of her eyes and his frown deepened. "I'm fine. We're on Main, walking through the shops, so don't send out the cavalry or anything."

He saw Tig from the corner of his eye. Really, what was with Tig and the lurking today? His little bitch had him all spun around and, honestly, it was starting to piss him off. You either had a girl, or you didn't, but one sure wasn't worth keeping around if she had you on edge all the time.

"Call if ya need me," he told Ava and flipped his phone shut.

"They still out?" Tig asked.

"Yeah."

"Goddamn," Tig muttered and wandered off.

**-O-**

"I have this in purple," Ava held up the baby pink bra she was looking at. It was animal print done in light and dark shades of the main color, contrasting lilac trim.

"Hmm," Holly was walking the ends of her fingers across the carefully laid out table display of lace boy shorts. "These are nicer than the ones I have."

"See? Told you." Ava set the bra down and watched Holly a moment. "As much as it nauseates me to ask…does Tig have a favorite? Might make him a little happier later."

Holly didn't glance up, but one corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. "Tig doesn't have favorites. Any clothes are too many clothes in his book." She sighed. "And he's gonna be mad no matter what."

"He doesn't…I mean, with you, he isn't…"

"Abusive?" Holly asked knowingly. She met her glance and her eyes seemed sad. "No. Never. Tig's my hero…even when he doesn't want to be."

"I get that," Ava said, and meant it. "Not about _Tig_, but the hero thing."

"You weren't kidding when you said you two didn't get along. What's that about?"

Ava shook her head. The question had been genuine – she was starting to think Holly wasn't conniving as she would have suspected of someone who was with Tig. "He's an asshole."

"Yeah."

She chuckled. "So you agree."

"Definitely. I love the guy, but I'm not stupid. I know he has social hangups."

Ava walked over to the table and joined Holly, spotted a black thong she liked and held it up for inspection. She stretched the strings out with her thumbs. "I think I'm gonna get this. Hap will like." She glanced back the table, wondering if they had it in purple. "So Tig…is he as kinky as they say he is? Not that I want to know for _personal _reasons, it's just…the walls are thin…and I've heard stuff."

Holly's eyes were wide. "Um…Ava, not to insult you, but you're nineteen…"

"Twenty next month. And I've been fucking Hap since I was seventeen." She smirked. "You are not in the presence of virginal ears here."

She still looked startled. "What do you mean by kinky?"

"Animal fetish? Chains? You know…_kinky_."

Holly coughed a short laugh. "Not so much."

"Sorry," Ava began sorting through the panty selection again. "I was just curious. Porn night with Hap raises a few questions."

"Porn night?"

"Tuesdays. Porn, pizza and pussy…his three Ps."

It was silent a beat and Ava figured she'd freaked her out. She hadn't thought it possible to offend someone with Tig, but maybe she had. Finally, Holly laughed. "So, nineteen, but in MC years…"

"Dunno…forty maybe?"

Again, silence. But then the heels of Holly's cowboy boots clipped the wooden floor. "Blue."

"Huh?"

"Tig likes me in blue."

Ava grinned and pointed to the back wall where the drawers of panties were sorted by size, color, style and material, in every color imaginable. "Welcome to the rainbow. Lace or silk?"

**-O-**

"How long till you graduate?" Holly asked as they rounded the corner. Up ahead, one hundred yards up the sidewalk, the T-M fence loomed. Almost home.

She glanced over and saw Ava make a face. She looked younger than the night before, jacket folded over her crossed arms, hair in a ponytail, shopping bags clutched in one hand. The gold ring around her neck caught the light. "At least another three semesters, and that's if I take the maximum number of hours. I kinda hate it right now. I mean, I love the subject matter, it's just so much work. And I get homesick. Hap shouldn't have to work outta Sacramento…but he does. He's sweet like that."

Holly was impressed with the scary, dark-eyed biker all of a sudden. Wow. He really was living away from his brothers, staying Nomad, so he could watch out for his Old Lady. "What are you studying?"

"Journalism."

"I heard you have a column."

Ava smiled. "It's just a small piece in a little-known bike mag. But it's a paycheck, and it's what I'm good at, so I'm pretty happy with it."

They were closer to the gate now and Holly became almost nervous about whether the day's progress would hold, or if once back with her pack of other Old Ladies, Ava would turn on her again.

"So…that was kinda fun, actually," she broached. "You know, despite the flat tire and the three mile walk in heels."

Ava chuckled. "Yeah.

And then they were turning and there was the gate, the lot packed with cars and bikes. Holly spotted Happy's bald head over in front of the clubhouse and even through the shield of his sunglasses, she knew his eyes found Ava instantly. They had a bizarre connection that was more instinct than conscious thought. She looked for, but didn't see Tig. She sighed. Figures, there was no animal instinct connection there.

"See you around?" Ava asked, already turning toward the clubhouse and her Old Man.

Holly offered her a smile, pleased that even through her carefully guarded expression, Ava was smiling just a little too. "Yeah. That'd be good." _Don't have too many friends around here _she added to herself.

**-O-**

"Hey," Hap greeted, pulling her under his arm as they walked toward the clubhouse.

"Hey," Ava returned with a smile. She slid an arm around his lean waist, up under the edge of his cut.

"You a'ight?"

"I'm fine. Holly and I did some window shopping on the way back, it's all good."

He snorted. "Thought you didn't like 'Tig's bitch'?"

She paused, causing him to do so too, and glanced over her shoulder where Holly stood talking to Gemma. "Meh…we'll see. Hell, if nothing else, she deserves some kind of award for putting up with Tigger."

"What's in the bag?"

"What?" she faced him again, saw him poking at the Painted Lady paper shopping bag in her free hand. "Oh." She smiled. "That's for later."

"Lemme see," he reached for it and she pulled it behind her back. He scowled. "You're no fun."

"Oh, I'm _lots _of fun."

He rolled his eyes, but leaned down to kiss her.

**-O-**

Gemma stopped mid-sentence when she realized Holly was no longer paying attention to her. She sighed. The girl was staring across the parking lot, watching Hap and Ava with the arms around one another and the kisses and all that.

"Pretty sweet, huh?"

"What?" Holly turned around again, eyes wide like she was afraid she was in trouble. "Oh, I was just -,"

"Wishin' you had that?"

She shrugged. "No."

Gemma pursed her lips. _Yeah right. _Holly spent anymore time around Ava, she would start expecting things from Tig. And then they'd all get to see just how casual his feelings about the little bartender were.

**-O-**

When Holly stepped into her – his – kitchen with a grocery bag on her hip, she found Tig's cut over a chair. Which wasn't a surprise since his bike was in the drive. He hadn't been at the shop when her car had finally been towed in. Hadn't shown up while Lowell and Dog changed her tire and checked the others for leaks. She set the brown paper bag on the table, threw the yogurt in the fridge, and went in search of him. She'd left her other purchases in the car, wanting to surprise him with the lingerie later.

She found his bottom half sticking out from under the bathroom vanity cabinets, under her leaky sink. "Hey."

He grunted a response.

She propped a hip against the counter. "The lug nuts were rusted on. Lowell said he knows a vintage parts seller who could get me a whole new set of wheels if I was interested. The mag SS ones."

Another grunt.

"Are you mad at me because I spent time with Ava?"

"_No_," he said in that petulant tone of his.

"Tig -,"

"But I _did _tell you to steer clear, didn't I?" he went on.

She sighed. Sometimes it was like she'd taken on an eight-year-old instead of an ex-Marine Sgt at Arms. "Gemma put us together. You want me to go against the Queen?"

He climbed out from under the sink in a huff, knocking over her shampoo and lotion bottles. He was scowling as he tossed his wrench back into the bag he'd brought, not meeting her gaze. "I want you to follow directions, goddamn it."

She stood still while he collected the rest of his stuff. "Sink's fixed," he bit out as he left.

Holly listened to his boots clomp through the house and shook her head. "Love you too, asshole," she muttered.

**TBC**

**AN: **Yes, I know I'm terribly slow with updating this. It's been hard to write! I don't do happy and fun well. But I've got what I hope is some fun and interesting stuff coming up, so thanks for sticking with me!

And much love to my girl Angie for her idea generation!


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't uncommon for Tig to come stumbling his drunk way into her bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, so Holly wasn't immediately concerned when a noise somewhere else in the house startled her awake. She preferred him on those nights, when alcohol had dulled his meanness and his touch was the slightest bit softer when he reached for her between the sheets. On those nights she almost felt like they had a relationship, instead of this bizarre symbiotic situation they were in now. She'd never had those thoughts at the start – no, she'd been content with whatever scraps of affection he'd give her – but the more time she spent in the world of Gemma and Maggie and MC normalcy, the more she wanted a little slice of that for herself. Not that she'd ever ask, but it would be nice.

She slipped a cool palm between her cheek and the pillow, ears straining for the familiar jangle of his keys and wallet chain, now not just sleepy, but content. Tig was safety. And that was so much more than professions of love or flowers or poems. But she didn't hear Tig, just a loud _thump _that came from the general direction of the kitchen.

Holly stopped breathing. The fine hairs on the back of her neck sat up and barked for her attention. _Danger! Danger! _She flashed cold then hot as terror gripped her. Had it been daytime, or she was awake and alert and equipped to defend herself, she might not have reacted the way she did. But in the dark, she rolled quickly across the far side of the bed and dropped to the carpet on her knees, hand seeking and finding the revolver she kept under the extra pillow. It was just a snub nosed .38 – Tig had refused to buy her another cannon, which was what he'd called the .357 she'd had to ditch – but it would do.

She thought about shouting an inquiry across the house, then nixed the idea just as fast. The clock radio said it was 4:12 and calling Tig didn't seem like a smart, or effective plan either. This was when she hated living alone, hated that she and Tig were not a _we _and that whatever was out in her kitchen was about to eat her alive unimpeded.

The noise sounded again and she jumped. "Shit! Cool it," she ordered herself in a quivering whisper. She ran through a mental list of things that it could be, running an inventory of any and everything in the kitchen. Had she locked the back door? What about the screen door? The wind came funneling in under the carport every once in awhile and set it to flapping.

After several excruciating moments that felt like years, straining to hear anymore thumps, Holly forced herself up and around the bed, crossing to the door it record time. Her hand was on the knob when…_THUMP! _

She slammed the bedroom door, locked it, and skittered back to bed like a frightened animal. She sat with her back to the headboard, knees pulled up to her chest, gun still clenched tightly in her hand. Inwardly, she chastised herself for chickening out, but she hadn't survived all that she had by being reckless and brave. No, sometimes, being scared was a good thing.

**-O-**

"What's wrong with you?" Maggie tried to ask it nicely, really she did, but her tone came out as caustic when she addressed Holly.

The bartender stifled another yawn with the back of her hand and then shook herself all over like a dog. "Nothing," she said ", just tired."

"Late night at the bar?"

This time when she glanced up, Holly's eyes were filled with an almost fearful suspicion. Jesus, how did Tig stand this girl? She was flighty, quick to startle, walked on fucking eggshells. "That," she said carefully ", and, well…never mind."

Maggie didn't like to have her time wasted. "What?"

Holly's face screwed up in a strange expression. "There was this…weird noise in the house last night. This thumping noise. It kept me awake."

Was she kidding? Really? A thumping noise? Maggie was deprived the opportunity of responding when Ava knocked on the door jamb and leaned into the office. She was in running shorts and a loose tank top; fuchsia sports bra showing. Her movements were quick and elastic as always, but her face was still tired. There were bags under her eyes.

"Hey, sweetie," she greeted. "You feeling better this morning?"

Ava nodded, but her smile was thin and false. "Yeah, I'm gonna take a lap or two around the block." Maggie watched her daughter's glance shift over toward Holly. "Hey."

She nodded in return. "Hey."

The exchange was friendlier than Maggie had expected. She lowered down into her desk chair. "Probably rats," she said and both girls shot her curious looks. "In your attic, Holly. The noise? Probably just rats."

"Oh. Yeah. Maybe."

Honestly, why did Tig keep this one around?

**-O-**

There was nothing like punishing the body to alleviate the punishment of the mind. Ava went more than a couple laps around the block, probably more like five, burning through her hard rock playlist and getting lost in the slap of her sneakers on pavement, the continuous roll of perspiration down her back in fat beads. When she finally stopped, it was because her legs refused to go another step, not because she wanted to, and she stood, panting and dry heaving with one hand braced on the wall of the post office, fighting dehydration and overwhelming fatigue. It was four o' clock, the hottest part of the day. Smart.

Walking back to the shop proved a challenge, and she almost called her mother…almost, but instead took solace in the awning over the door to Rodney's Bar, sticky damp palms pressed back against the wood paneling as she counted her heartbeats and waited for them to slow. The she remembered something: Holly worked at Rodney's. And because she still felt too faint to move, she rolled along the wall and slipped into the door.

It was cool and dark inside, tomb-like, and so blessedly air conditioned. Happy hour wouldn't start until five, so there were no customers, only staff doing a last check of the tables and wiping offensive globs of whateverthehell out of the glass lamps. The radio was on a country/western station, the volume low, but the music hollow inside the empty building.

Ava spotted Holly behind the bar dipping up bowls of peanuts and went to her, drooping down onto a stool like the sweaty, oozing thing she'd turned herself into. The other girl recognized her and halted her task, leaning down so they were on eye level. Her eyes were green, Ava noted, a pretty jade color and impossibly wide when she was worried, which was now.

"Ava?"

"I ran myself into the ground. Literally. I just needed a minute in the shade. Don't worry, I'm not gonna try to bum a beer with a fake ID."

Holly frowned and disappeared, which Ava was grateful for. Maggie kept giving her these motherly doe eyes, sad and sympathetic. Because she knew. And Chibs knew but had managed to not say anything, just grunted his disapproval. Fuck her, just fuck her life…running hadn't been a distraction at all. Now she was just tired and upset.

Something cold touched her arm and she jumped. Holly had returned with a glass of ice water, complete with lemon wedge and bendy straw. "Here. You don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good," she admitted, taking a sip and wincing as her stomach cramped up against the coldness of the water. "I really overdid it."

Holly nodded and returned to her routine of dipping up peanuts, watching her at the same time. Her eyes weren't scornful or overly curious, just concerned. Innocent almost in their simple worry over her well being. Maybe it was the week she'd had, or her lactic-acid altered state, but the look on Holly's face coupled with the smooth, efficient way she completed her task shone a pinprick of light on Tig's reasons for hanging onto her. She was a pretty woman, beautiful even, her Vivien Leigh face with none of Scarlett O'Hara's venom. But even drop-dead gorgeous and endlessly sexy didn't hold a Son's attention long term. It was bout more than pretty. No, there was something there, in her quiet, unassuming way. A calm and smoothness to counterbalance Tig's…asshole-ness.

"So there's a noise in your attic?" Ava asked.

Holly's eyes lit up a moment and Ava thought it was sad that a general curiosity sparked such delight in her. "Scared the hell out of me. And I'm not so sure it was in the attic. I heard it coming from the kitchen last night."

Holly's mysterious noise suddenly seemed like a better distraction than any jog. "You want some company tonight?"

**-O-**

Holly's boss was a sweetie and he let her off at eleven; it was a slow night and Stacy had been late, so he made her close up. Holly was sure that Ava would want to wait for another night, but she answered her cell on the first ring. And Holly had no sooner changed into sweats and brushed out her hair than she saw headlights out in the drive. As she heard Ava's shoes rap up the back steps, she was flooded with sudden worry. What if the noise was some sort of stalker? Axe murderer? And what if she was putting Ava in danger by having her over? What in the fuck would Happy do to her if she got his Old Lady hurt? Scratch that, she didn't want to know.

Ava was in lounge pants and a tank top, an oversize hobo bag across one shoulder that most likely held overnight essentials. "So," she said with a smile after Holly ushered her in. "This is Tig's lair." But she laughed and Holly knew it wasn't really meant as a jab. There were layers to this club that she didn't understand. Ava didn't like Tig, Tig didn't like Ava, but both called each other "family". And some of the more hurtful comments were just old habit.

"Only every so often. It's more my lair now. And he comes sneaking in when he feels like it."

Ava nodded, glancing around the kitchen. Holly was anal about cleaning, but it suddenly felt like her efforts were inadequate now that someone else was inspecting her old GE fridge and the linoleum that was peeling up where it butted against the cabinets. But when she turned around, Ava's expression was wistful, eyes roving over the out of date appliances with longing. Holly didn't understand. This whole day felt off. Ava coming into the bar, volunteering to come over, the way she now passed a hand over the back of a chair.

"Ava, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she murmured in an obvious lie. "I'm fine."

**-O-**

Happy rolled onto his stomach and listened to the blonde still panting beside him. He'd watched her tits heave a minute, the little hoop piercings through each nipple catching the light, but then she'd turned to him like she wanted to say something and he'd moved away. Not interested. He didn't need a bitch so he could _talk _to her.

"Goddamn," she murmured and the bed shifted a bit. He felt her hand on his side, and then it crept up and across his spine, over the back patch that was inked from shoulders to waist.

He didn't know her name, didn't want to. Had seen her at the bar talking to Carter and hadn't so much as requested company as drug her after him. She hadn't complained – far from it. And there had been no meaningful looks between them, no murmured "love you", no tears because there hadn't been a full, untouched pack of birth control pills waiting to jump out and bite him like a fucking snake. No woman reverting back to little girl, crying, asking something of him that he couldn't give. No ", I forgot to take them".

"Go get us a beer," he told the sweetbutt and she hopped out of bed. He didn't even hear her get dressed before she left his dorm. When she was gone, he reached for a smoke and rolled onto his back once more, lighting up and enjoying the residual, post-coital heat circulating through his body. In the moment, he didn't feel guilty. Certain very intelligent, club educated little girls knew better than to deceive him. And there were a lot of things Hap had been, but some things he never could be, not the least of which was a father.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

"You want something to drink?" Holly offered.

Ava shook her head in the negative and pulled a water bottle out of her bag. "I'm still recovering a bit from this afternoon."

"I have Gatorade. I keep it in the freezer and it turns into a slushy."

She debated a moment, but finally caved with ", yeah, that'd be good."

The room fell silent while Holly fetched a blue, frozen Gatorade from the freezer and then opened up a fresh box of Famous Amos chocolate chip mini cookies. Ava was slender anyway, but seemed more lethargic than she should have been; her cheeks dark hollows under prominent ridges of bone. Depression – Holly had seen it staring back at her by way of the mirror enough times to know its warning signs, signs that were all over Ava's face and slow, trembling hands as she twisted the top off her drink.

_It was like super scandalous, _Carmen's words before the party a few weeks before came back to Holly now. _We all had a pool going on how long it was before they split for good. That Nomad shit turned out not to count…whatever…point is, the whole situation was WRONG._

But Holly had known wrong – true wrong – not scandal and drama and rumor-mongering, but the epitome of wrong. And now that all that wrongness was stuffed away in the back corners of her memory, she understood what it was to want what you couldn't hold onto, but tried to fiercely anyway. Whatever Ava was upset about, it involved Happy.

"Are you okay?" she repeated.

Ava nodded. She reached for the cookies and shook a generous handful into her palm. "Lots of noise in my head I guess," she said, staring at a spot on the wall. "Has Gem talked to you about her Taste of Charming gig yet?"

"Enough for me to know that I'll be her go-fer all day."

Ava snorted a laugh. "Me too. _Everyone _is her bitch at a function like that. She'll wear you the hell out."

"Are you gonna be there?"

"Oh yes. I'm just another one of the Queen's loyal subjects."

They both chuckled at that, until the sound died to a hollow murmur that was covered up by the hum of the refrigerator.

After a pause, Ava pushed the Gatorade aside. "Actually, do you have any vodka?"

**-O-**

The blonde wanted to stay, but Hap sent her packing. Then a shower was in order. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood…and his left leg gave out like it hadn't even been there at all. He should have been used to this by now, but it was more a case of defiance than a lack of preparedness. He had two options – fall forward or backward – and though he was silent, he roared internally as he was forced to sit back down hard on the bed.

It was like that sometimes: his leg. In fact it was like that more often than not. After his initial crash, he'd walked with a limp, the bones having healed, but the connective tissues never quite the same again. And then there had been the second injury. Landing on his feet down a one story drop, it had felt like his knee had literally exploded inside his skin; all its components obliterated and leaving him with a ball of pain so tight and so white hot that he'd blacked out for a minute. It had been ruined. And that had been a year ago, but it still plagued him, there were still moments that he questioned his ability to do certain things, and he didn't know how to process that feeling.

He glanced across the room and his eyes landed on the yellow bottle sitting on the dresser. It wasn't recommended for human use anymore, but Ava had gone to a feed store and bought him some horse liniment. She would massage it into his knee with careful, competent fingers and his joint would go cold all over, then slowly warm back up again, the pain lessening, the stiffness easing. It wasn't as good as the pills, but he guessed it was better than nothing.

The oxy had scared Ava. Oxy was good shit – took his head on a little field trip until his body just seemed to float away too, made him all tingly and sleepy. Which, really, as good as it felt, wasn't a good state for him. Not when he had a place in the club. He'd flashed back on his days as a punk-ass, when he was still doing H…he didn't need to go there again. And when he'd flushed all those pills down the toilet, Ava watching from the doorway like some goddamn mother hen, making sure he'd gotten rid of every last one, he'd realized that he had indeed been addicted.

He clenched his teeth together hard and used his arms, easing up slowly, all his weight on his good leg. The left one protested again. Every time he worked out, every time he pushed the joint, the scar tissue tore apart and then struggled to knit back together. He had a feeling his knee looked like a bunch of scrap metal on the inside; all sharp points and odd angles, none of it functioning properly anymore. He had watched, and had become irritated, while Ava poured through medical journals, falling asleep face-down in the books, always coming to him about alternative treatments or possible knee replacements, joint supplements. One night, she'd been rubbing liniment into his flesh and he could tell by the face she made that it left her hands numb and cold. She'd stilled after a moment, staring at his ruined leg, breathing hard, her eyes had become glossy. She didn't mourn his loss of mobility for herself, but for him. If you couldn't ride, you couldn't vote – Happy _was _the club – and she knew it, and she dreaded the day that his leg just gave up completely and he lost his seat at the various tables he frequented.

His trip to the shower was downright geriatric, with his knee finally becoming looser with a loud popping sound as he progressed across the room. And as he cut on the water, he wondered why, if Ava knew the stakes at hand, she had dared to try to get herself knocked up. All the time he'd spent laid up the second go round with his knee, a goddamn vegetable on her sofa, and yet she wanted a baby.

**-O-**

Ava and vodka were not friends. She could drink beer and wine all night, but when she hit the liquor, she turned into an idiot. Tonight was no exception. She felt Holly's eyes heavy on her as she tipped the bottle into her glass one more time. And then her new "friend" repeated the question that up till now she'd been able to withstand.

"Ava, really now, what's going on?"

There was that needling prompt again. Her mother or Gemma would have just left it alone: they weren't the sharing and caring types. But she was obviously freaking Holly out. And though she shouldn't, Ava took one more slug of vodka and found herself vomiting up words she should have kept to herself.

"Happy and I are…at odds," she said, slumping sideways against a propped fist. "We don't argue, he doesn't yell or want to discuss anything…he just gets really quiet. God, he won't even look at me this time."

Holly's eyes were wide, but she caught herself quickly, nodding, like she'd expected as much.

"I'm losing him," she said. "If I ever even had him."

And then Ava tried to contain the rest of the word vomit, but she couldn't, and it came tumbling out of her mouth, expedited by the alcohol. She told Holly everything – sober enough to leave out the Irish specifics and any club related tidbits – but she told her about Happy. About how his protection had turned to something else, how he'd fought it, but eventually caved. She told her about the push-and-pull, how he wasn't easy to love, but she did, because their bond went deeper than the present and the surface attractions they'd found in one another. Or at least she'd thought so. She talked about the crash, and as she did recalled the haunting blue of the sky, the smell of rubber and pavement, the concussive force of her body landing on the asphalt, the sound like a nuclear blast inside her head. And then she told her about the second injury to his leg, the relapse, the sympathetic way Quinn had smiled at her broken killer. The pain. His limp. The pills. All her research and her efforts and feeling like she'd failed him because she didn't know how to make his leg whole again.

And then tears pricked in her eyes when she talked about a week ago. When he'd gone digging through her bag after his cell charger and had come out with her birth control pills. She should have started the fresh pack five days before, but had forgotten. She'd just been busy and worried about him and so happy to be home that they'd slipped her mind. But when his tone became cold and accusatory, she'd said what she shouldn't have.

"_And what if I did get pregnant? Would that really be so bad?"_

He didn't believe it was an accident. He thought that even though he'd told her the miscarriage was proof that they didn't need the burden – he didn't even want children – that she had tried to trap him. That she'd purposefully stopped taking her pills in the hope that he knocked her up again. Having Hap think that she was a liar and a sneak was worse than all the other heartbreak he'd ever caused her.

**TBC**

**AN: **Short chapter, I know. Apologies. I'm afraid I may have to take another hiatus from this story and didn't want to leave the pregnancy question hanging. Ava is definitely not preggers here.


	7. Chapter 7

Holly was stunned to silence a good ten seconds once Ava finished her story. She knew about the age gap and she'd heard about the disapproval that had revolved around the couple, but hearing about Ava's past with Happy had rattled her. She was disturbed beyond measure that this man who'd watched her grow up had come to think of her in a sexual way. Happy should have been a surrogate uncle, not her lover and Old Man. It was sick.

But she kept that to herself. "I'm so sorry," she said. Because sick or not, the girl's pain and frustration were legitimate. That twisted past of hers with Happy had obviously made her more attached than if she'd fallen in love with him as an adult. "He won't listen at all? It's _you_; he has to know that you weren't trying and that it was just an accident."

"You'd think!" Ava threw up her arms in defeat. "And that's just the thing, I'm _not _knocked up, I'm on the friggin' rag right now for Christ's sakes." She shook her head. "No, this isn't even the issue. He's tired of me, and bitter about his leg. I just don't know what to do about any of it anymore."

"I dunno if there's anything you _can_ do except give him space. He adores you, Ava. He's not gonna throw that away."

She shrugged. "I've never been a woman to him. I always kinda knew that just being his 'girl' wasn't going to be enough in the long run."

Holly deftly reached forward and moved the vodka bottle away from Ava by increments, until it was totally out of reach. "Well…I'm not sure that's true," she mused. As much as Happy frightened her, she tried to find some correlation between his feelings for Ava and the odd relationship she had with Tig.

Ava glanced up with a bold _yeah, right _face.

"I think that if Happy wanted a 'woman', he'd have one. Tig was married eons ago and has two girls he gets pissy about if I so much as bring them up…he had a 'woman' and children and the American Dream bullshit, and he couldn't live with it. Can you see Happy with a woman his own age? House and kids and cars and PTA meetings and honey-do lists?"

Ava cracked a smile. "Not on his life."

Holly chuckled. "I mean, really, where's he gonna meet someone? Starbucks? Barnes & Noble?"

Ava started to actually laugh, just a low sound in the back of her throat.

"Ooh, I've got it! That politician, what's-her-face, the one doing the inner city reform campaign in Oakland right now? Yeah, she and Happy…meant to be, girl, let me tell you."

"Oh my God!" Ava barked out a hard laugh and shook her head, now quaking with giggles.

"Ava," Holly became serious. "I know I haven't been around this club as long as you. But trust me, a guy like Happy wants someone who understands his life, who he can trust beyond a shadow of a doubt, who has his back, and who doesn't complicate things with a lot of outside distractions. Standard rules don't apply, so what can a 'woman' give him that you can't?"

She shrugged. A dark look skittered across her face. "It's not even that I want kids. It just bothers me that he's so dead set against them…I mean, I get the reasons. I can pack up and go – I'm a light traveler – and I've already been tabulated into the equation of his life. A kid would complicate things. I just -,"

"Would like to think it'll happen at some point."

Ava glanced up and nodded, really made firm eye contact in a way that was thankful and relieved. "Yes. Absolutely." She glanced away and her face became wistful, she'd had plenty of vodka and all her emotions were bubbling at the surface. "How do you do it? How are you so _calm _about Tig and all the uncertainty?"

_THUMP_

They both half leapt from their chairs.

"Was that it?" Ava asked after a moment, eyes darting around the kitchen.

Holly had gone from sympathetic and calm to totally juiced in the span of a lurching heartbeat. "Yeah," she gripped the edge of the table ", that was it."

_THUMP_

The noise repeated, and this time Ava cocked her head. "That almost sounded like it came from under the house."

A third _thump _confirmed it; whatever was making the sound was definitely beneath the house.

"You think it's the pipes?" Holly asked on a whisper. "This house is old as shit, maybe it's just settling?"

"No." Ava got down on her hands and knees on the linoleum…_okaaaaay_…and pressed her ear to the floor. "Scratching," she said after a minute. "There's something _alive_ down there moving around."

Holly couldn't help the wild leap her thoughts made. "Oh, God…I saw this special about squatters and attics -,"

"You don't have a basement, do you? Just a crawl space?"

"Right."

"Not a person then." Ava pushed up off the floor. "C'mon. You got a flashlight?"

**-O-**

Armed with a hulking Energizer flashlight and Holly's little .38 tucked into the waistband of her lounge pants, Ava swung open the little two-and-a-half by two-and-a-half square door that led under the house into the crawl space.

"This is stupid," Holly muttered again. And it was. It was unquestionably stupid for her to go hunting down the creators of strange thumps in Tig's crawl space. But that was the funny thing about alcohol: it made white people dance a whole hell of a lot better and made little chickenshits like her feel invincible.

"It'll be fine," she assured, hearing the way her words came out a little sloppy. Whatever. Ava thrust the flashlight through the hatch and then wiggled her way through.

It was cool and damp, the floor composed of moss-covered, hard packed dirt. The light cantered around the underbelly of the house, exposing the worm-eaten beams and struts, carved through countless spider webs – she flashed on Frodo's magic glowing blade and giant spiders a moment before she scolded herself for being a literature geek. "Dork," she muttered, and belly-crawled military style toward what she hoped was the kitchen.

She didn't have to go much further before the culprit made itself known. There were broken bottles, sections of PVC and loose scrap boards scattered all throughout the crawl space. And there was one in particular up on a slant, propped against the beams beneath the kitchen floor. Something came waddling out from behind the water heater – her heart stalled a minute – and then spun away from the light and back into hiding, clambering over the wedged board which in turn thumped loudly against the underside of the house. It was an armadillo. And the entrance to its newfound nest led it over the board.

Ava worked her way back out to the door and then rolled out onto the dewy grass, staring up at the stars a moment and drawing in a deep breath of clean, fresh air. "It's an armadillo," she explained, finally propping up on her arms.

Holly looked a bit horrified.

"Totally harmless. But he probably needs to be flushed out. Don't want him chewing on any wiring or God forbid the gas line to the water heater. Which is where his nest is by the way…what?"

"I don't want to alarm you or anything," Holly sat forward and started to reach out, but then retracted ", but, um, there's a very large spider -,"

Ava jumped to her feet and madness ensued as she went through the standard get-this-fucking-spider-off-me dance and Holly held the flashlight and helped her try to swat the thing away. Once they realized the spider was either gone, or had managed to hide in Ava's hair somehow, they both collapsed to the ground laughing.

"Look at your clothes!" Holly gasped.

She was covered in dirt and cobwebs and little bits of what was probably rat shit…or armadillo shit maybe. "Damn, and I love these pants."

"I can't believe you actually went under the house."

"Yeah, well, I'm a little drunk," Ava chuckled. She'd been in a funk all week, but tonight – whatever it was – had been surprisingly cathartic for her. She sat on the grass and caught her breath, the coolness of night prickling up her arms and cutting through the haze in her mind a little bit. "Holly?" Worry over her word vomit piqued. "I said too much tonight and -,"

"I'd never tell a soul," she assured before Ava could even get the question out.

Maybe it was just the vodka, but Ava thought she might really be able to like this girl. "Thank you. I mean that."

Holly shrugged and offered a slight smile. "Everyone deserves her chance to vent in private. Especially considering this crew of guys."

Ava nodded. She wasn't ready for the two of them to go out and get matching best friends bracelets yet, but she was thinking that she'd seriously miscalculated Holly's ability to run with the club.

**-O-**

Hap was headed to the bank the next morning when he spotted Ava's truck at the gas station a few blocks up from the clubhouse. In the bright light of day, he wasn't angry. He'd been angry with his girl when he'd snagged the crow eater off her barstool, angry that she had pushed him until he didn't even want her around. But now, he was just more weary about the whole thing. And still felt obligated to ensure that she was alive and breathing and had all her limbs still intact.

He pulled into the lot and put his bike at a slant in front of the truck's nose, killed the engine. Ava was leaned back against the rear quarter panel, one foot propped on the tire. She was in workout clothes and had her arms loosely folded; watched the flow of traffic from behind her sunglasses, escaped strands of her ponytail getting caught in the breeze.

She finally glanced his way and he nodded. "You a'ight?"

The girl put on one hell of a poker face, which surprised him. All the other arguments, all he had to do was give her a look afterward, and she was putty again. This was guarded, crafty Ava, a side of her that he rarely faced. He had a feeling that the older she became – and the more jaded she became – the more this Gemma-like side of the girl would start to dominate her everyday demeanor.

"Yes," she replied, tightening her arms around herself.

And then there was silence. He hadn't come to apologize, because he didn't see any need to. And he didn't really intend to stay, he'd just been checking. Ava's lips kept twitching like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it every time.

"What?" he finally asked, aggravated.

She half smiled, but then retracted it. "I wasn't trying to stir up a shit storm, Hap."

He said nothing.

"Guess I need to take .38 Special's advice and learn to hold on loosely, huh?"

He didn't have time for the poor-me, unloved girl bullshit. It just soured his mood further. "I'll see ya," he offered and started his bike, the engine's growl cutting off anything else she might have said.

**One Week Later**

"Uh…Gem? I hate to say this, but _festivity's _is spelled wrong. It's plural, not possessive, so instead of Y-apostrophe-S, it should be I-E-S on the end -,"

"Just fix it, you don't have to tell me about it," Gemma cut Ava's explanation off and she nodded, continuing to edit the flyer without further comment. The once and always Queen smirked as she popped over her shoulder to glance at the laptop screen. "At least that college education is coming in handy. Good, keep going. And then email it to Juice; he said he'd print me two hundred copies."

The Morrow house had become Taste of Charming headquarters. It was a Friday, and Tara had the day off from the hospital so Gemma had put her surgical stitch skills to good use on the bean bags for one of the games. Maggie was on the phone checking up on all the restaurants and families who'd volunteered to man food tents. Lyla had gotten caught up at the studio, though Ava was convinced most of the "porn emergencies" were ways to stay out of the fray. This event kept getting bigger every year, and once she was done with the flyers, Ava was supposed to go to the party supply store and pick up the inflatable moon bounce and the giant fan that kept it bouncy.

She hadn't seen much of Happy. A few text messages asking if she was ok, a nod or two when their paths had crossed at the clubhouse, but so far the cold war raged on. Which was stupid because it wasn't even a war. They weren't even fighting. It was just this lingering chunk of ice sitting between them, big enough to take down the _Titanic_, and she didn't begin to know how to start the thawing process. Hap didn't need her, not like she did him, so he was perfectly fine staying at the clubhouse and hanging out with his boys.

That need though, didn't feel so acute today. She'd had a very productive week as far as her personal writing had gone. The thing about writing that frustrated not just her, but her family as well, was that it wasn't instant gratification. A lot of the essays and short stories she penned might never make it to print. And explaining to a crowd of bikers the necessity of practice and craft and language was exhausting at times. They were supportive. But what she loved was not an easily realized dream. Tara was out saving lives. Lyla was raking in money hand over hand-job-giving fist up at the studio. But Ava just typed away on her laptop and no one understood a damn bit of it. It was frustrating.

Final sweep of the flyer done, she attached it to an email and hit send. Then just to be sure, she called Juice on his personal cell.

"Yeah?" he answered on the third ring and Ava could hear garage noise in the background.

"Hey, I just sent you the flyers for Gemma's fundraiser." She paused to give him a chance to respond, but he didn't. She could picture his befuddled expression. "Anyway, I wanted to pass order along from -," she glanced over her shoulder to ensure Gemma was out of earshot ", - Her Holiness that she needs you to print two hundred copies and have them ready this afternoon. I think Holly and I are on posting duty, so if you've still got that big stapler handy, that would be good too."

"Shit, I'm working on a car….but, yeah. I'll go do that now." He chuckled. "You better not let her catch you saying 'Her Holiness'."

"I know. It's just been one of those days of order-taking, ya know?"

"Yup," his laughter was so nice to hear. Imagine, a man actually _laughing _at something she'd said. "I'll get it done. You girls can pick 'em up later, 'kay?"

"You're the best."

"You know it. I gotta run. Later, babe."

_Babe. _Ava sighed as she hung up her cell. She refused to even imagine the 'what-ifs' that pertained to her love life. But sometimes it was damn nice to hear things like that.

**-O-**

Holly pushed her shades up onto her forehead as she stepped beneath the clubhouse pavilion. The guys were scattered across the picnic tables and camp chairs; drinking, smoking and watching while Chibs attempted to teach the Prospect how to throw a proper punch. So far, the lesson didn't seem to be sticking.

Tig was sitting with Bobby on top of one table, and she set the plastic bags full of takeout between them without a sound, her attention momentarily pulled away when she spotted Happy sitting next to Jax on the opposite side of the little circle of Sons.

Crow eaters were a constant around the clubhouse, and lingered in twos or threes on any given afternoon, even when their "services" weren't required. A tall blonde stood behind Happy's chair and alternated her ever-wavering attention between the biker and the other handful of women scattered about. She was in denim cutoffs that were too tight in an unpleasant way. Stiletto sandals. And a faux leather vest number that showed off a midriff she shouldn't have been proud of. Everything from her stance to the way her lips twitched around the filter of her cigarette told a story Holly didn't want to hear: Happy had fucked this woman, and now she was looking to lay claim. On friendly terms with most of the regulars, she had never seen this particular sweetbutt before. She must have been a newcomer: just one among the legion of groupies always trying to slip into the ranks.

"What the fuck's with you?"

"What? Oh, sorry," she shook her head and glanced at Tig who was staring at her with narrowed eyes. "Just doing a head count."

He gave the smallest of nods as he started pawing through the bags she'd brought, which she knew meant that he was still listening if she had more to say, but he wasn't going to prompt her. Tig was subtle, more so than many gave him credit for. At times, that was. At others…not so much.

"Gemma wanted me to round up the girls and touch base about tomorrow."

He didn't say anything.

"You gonna be there tomorrow, darlin'?" Bobby asked.

She nodded and smiled a little. Opened her mouth to respond –

"You got ketchup?" Tig asked, snapping his fingers.

She fished the packets from her purse without comment and saw Bobby mouth _rude _behind his hand. She bit back another grin. "You need anything else?"

Tig shook his head in the affirmative and she took her leave as the other guys rose from their various seats and came to the picnic table like sharks to chum. Holly watched the blonde who'd been standing behind Happy move to the clubhouse wall and prop herself up against it. She felt a twinge of sympathy for Ava.

The poor girl, and she really was just a girl, had taken a real hit to her self-confidence thanks to this misunderstanding with the mean-faced bastard. She'd thrown herself into work and writing and helping Gemma, which, good for her, but Holly was starting to wonder if sweetbutts like this blonde she'd never seen even knew if Happy had an Old Lady.

Ava was starting to feel like the closest thing she'd ever had to a girlfriend, and if Holly wanted to ever be welcomed into the Old Lady inner circle, she had to step up and start looking out for her fellow females. Starting with getting Ava to that night's post-church party.

**TBC **


	8. Chapter 8

Tig stopped by Holly's – no, _his_ – house before he went back to the clubhouse for church. He needed a shower and he'd installed one of those ridiculous rainfall shower heads a few months back. Not because Holly had asked, but because watching her stare at the shower in the catalogue with such longing while she sipped her coffee had become too annoying to tolerate. He was sorting through the handful of shirts he kept in the closet and doing a smell-check to see how fresh they were, was realizing that they were all miraculously clean when Holly came in.

"I washed all of those," she said by way of greeting, giving him a little smile as she set her bag on the bed and started sorting through it for something. Of course she'd washed them. "Helpful Holly" Gemma called her with a snicker most of the time.

"Yeah." He pulled a black one off the hanger and shrugged into it. "You workin' tonight?"

"Neil said he'd let me go at midnight again," she nodded and finally found what she'd been after, a scrap of paper. "I was planning on coming by the clubhouse after…" she trailed off and waited until he'd turned around, buttoning his shirt and making eye contact. She wouldn't ask because that wasn't her way. She would wait for an invitation like a good girl.

"You can come."

Her grin widened and he watched her flip open her cell and start to punch digits into it – obviously what had been written on the scrap of paper. "Great. I'll let Ava know -," and then her green eyes went wide and she sucked in a fast breath when she realized what she'd just said.

Tig scowled. He should have known. Telling any woman, even Holly, to stay away from someone made the possibility too tempting. And if Ava could get Hap tangled, she could certainly lure Holly into a friendship. "Goddamn it, Hol," he felt his aggravation start to swell and grow into something more like full-on anger. "Did I, or did I not, tell you to stay away from that bitch?"

"Tig, I'm sorry," she started, voice already pleading.

"Didn't I?"

"You did, you did. And I'm _sorry_. Really -,"

"No!" he sliced his hand through the air, cutting her off. "I don't need sorry. I need you to do what I ask. And I _told _you -,"

"Why?"

Holly had never, not in his memory, ever interrupted him. She'd given him dark looks every so often, and that's when he knew that he must really be pushing her buttons, but she had never cut him off mid sentence. There was a visceral, reactionary part of him that had to fight the urge to slap her. But a mental picture of what that would look like – the hurt, fear and distrust in her eyes as she held her inflamed cheek in one trembling hand – dashed the thought immediately. Maybe that was love, he thought wryly: hating the idea of hitting your girl, even if she kind of deserved it.

She knew she'd overstepped her bounds because her little hands came together in that praying gesture she used on him when fear started to cloud her opinion of him. But she pressed on anyway, voice barely above a whisper. "Why do you hate Ava so much? She's having a really hard time right now."

"Hard time?" he asked, incredulous. How could Holly, looking back at her own life, think anyone else was having a hard time? "Boo hoo for her!" he snarled. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt with fast, uneven movements, already planning the way he was about to storm out of the room.

"Tig," she'd come around the bed. That was dangerous. And was at his elbow now. He felt the barest of tugs that meant she had a light hold of his shirt. She could turn on the sexy charm, once upon a time it was what had first caught his attention, but this was nothing of the sort. "I don't want to make you unhappy. Can we not just talk about this thing with Ava?"

"You know," he knew his smile was humorless. "You spend all this time suckin' up to Gem and Mags…if you wanted to be a good Old Lady, you wouldn't go behind my fuckin' back."

He smirked to himself triumphantly as he left. She didn't have shit to say to any of that. Girl knew she'd fucked up.

But he was about halfway to the clubhouse before he realized he'd said "Old Lady", and didn't that just sour his mood all over again?

**-O-**

Ava gripped the steering wheel and stared through the windshield of her truck a moment, debating the intelligence of coming. While they were hanging up flyers throughout town, Holly had very gently prodded her into attending the after church party. And she'd gone home – to Maggie and Chibs' house – and dolled herself up so that she was party-ready. But now her pulse was knocking hard in her ears and instead of warmly anticipating an evening with Happy, she was wondering how he'd receive her. And truthfully, how many women would be circling him like sharks.

With one last deep breath, she popped the door release and climbed out of her truck. It was a warm evening, the breeze vaguely stale and feeling full of sand like it had blown in from the desert. The sky was already deep black overhead and netted with white stars. The clubhouse was spilling over with bodies, red Solo cups, loud music and warm yellow light. And the closer her high-heeled ankle boots carried her across the pavement, the more nervous she became. Until she once again felt like the scared kid who'd watched Hap across the room, praying he'd acknowledge what she knew they were both feeling.

Lyla and Opie were sitting in camp chairs beneath the pavilion, drinking Coors Light out of cans, and the porn producer waved at her. Ava waved back, some of her nerves dissipating. It was okay. Her family was still her family – they weren't mad at her the way Happy was.

The thought of going through the door and into the pulsing crush of bodies proved to have the opposite effect on her jitters however, and she found herself just standing outside, staring in and chewing at her glossed lower lip.

"Hey," a familiar voice just off to her left caught her attention.

Juice was standing propped against the side of the clubhouse, a lit joint smoldering between his fingers and a stupid smile on his face. Ava grinned. She knew exactly what she needed to take the edge off.

**-O-**

From his position standing over behind the pool tables, Hap saw Ava walk up to the bar and request what looked like a double of something from the Prospect. She threw it back and was gone, slipping away into the crowd. He hadn't expected to see her tonight…or maybe he had and that was why he hadn't waved over one of the circling crow eaters yet. Instead he found himself wanting to look at his girl, and not these overused whores struggling to hold onto their youth.

He didn't really have to search for her, though. Like some four-legged beast, he knew when his mate was in the room. A sweetbutt pulled Tux by the collar of his cut across the floor and in their wake, Happy had a clear view of his girl for just a moment before the tide of bodies merged once more and she was gone again. Ava was standing against the wall, the high heel of one ankle boot propped against the wall, the position giving her body a natural arch as his eyes slid up her long, denim-covered legs. Her top was strapless and fitted over her breasts, but flowed loose well below her waist. The darkness made her hair look black, shiny even through the fog of smoke where it lay in sweeping layers down over her shoulders. She was smoking something – a joint by the way she held it – and had her head tilted back, eyes momentarily locking with his as she exhaled a thin plume of smoke through pink-glossed lips.

His frustration with her didn't matter. Neither did the argument. _I know you, _her dark eyes said, just like they always had. Because she did. Because when she wasn't fretting over homework or turning up the radio too loud in her truck, smiling that huge, happy-nineteen-year-old girl smile…here in the dusky jungle that was the clubhouse…all the sultry visual invitations of the crow eaters were laughable in comparison. He perused the T&A with predatory eyes, and like she'd always been capable, Ava could find his gaze through the crowd of prey and remind him that even if she was his sacrificial lamb, she was no sheep. She was a contradiction at all times – worshipful and submissive toward him, but not at all about to let him forget that of all the women present, she _knew _him. Was under his skin permanently, same as his tattoos.

There would be many women, he'd taste every flavor in the fucking rainbow, but there would always only be one who was truly and unquestionably _his_. And the elegant way she stretched her neck and tipped her head reminded him of that fact.

Happy stubbed out his cigarette and started moving toward her. His knee grabbed – the pain was constant now – but he ignored it. He could handle a little pain. Ava straightened off the wall when he reached her, but he pushed her back with the heel of his hand against her breastbone.

He took the joint from her, took a hit, her eyes locked on the movement the whole time, and then dropped it to the floor. Her hands went under his arms and around to his shoulder blades. She wanted to peel away from the wall and press against him, he could tell, but she stayed, tipping her head back as he ran his index finger up her throat and under her chin. He'd always liked blue-eyed blondes. Overly sexual smiles and purrs of invitation. But somehow it was fitting that the one who'd stayed was brunette and had eyes almost the color of his own. Chibs and Jax and Clay had their tough and independent Old Ladies, their counterbalances. But Ava was still too young and too in love to be anything but supportive. He was glad of that, needed it in fact.

When he took her wrist and pulled her back toward the dorms, she went willingly. When the crowd pressed in close around them, he felt her right as his back. And by the time he'd pulled her into his room and had her backed up against the closed door, her breath was coming in quick little draws and her brown eyes were sparkling with an energy so intense that it left no room for flirtation or naughtiness. She was just her own little breed of animal, craving him, and that he could deliver.

**-O-**

Ava didn't know why he came to her across the clubhouse. Was there ever a reason he did anything? But she didn't fight it. Sometimes, in the bright light of day, she felt rotten about her lack of self control. But in the moment it was always the same – she grew positively feverish for him and wouldn't have dared to turn him away.

Tonight, it was like their argument had never occurred. He was fabulous at leaving bullshit outside the bedroom. But afterward, curled up on her side, facing the wall, with his arm around her waist and his bad leg kicked up over hers in a way that was much more possessive than tender, doubt crept back into her mind.

She wanted to cry, but knew that she couldn't, so she didn't. His hand was spread flat on the mattress in front of her and she traced the backs of his knuckles with her fingertips. He made no move to take her hand into his, didn't try to intertwine their fingers – which wasn't unusual.

There were so many things she wanted to say. _How's your leg? Or are you still too much of a stubborn ass to talk about it? Are you really _that _tired of me? I miss you. Please don't stay mad at me…_

But instead she twisted inside his loose hold, so that she faced him, her hand on his shoulder. A single muscle in his cheek twitched and he exhaled loudly through his nose. He was annoyed with her – again – and she didn't even know how to prevent his displeasure aside from completely shedding herself down and becoming a whole other person. Which wasn't possible.

"I'll go," she hated that her voice quivered. She pushed off on his shoulder as she started to slip away –

And he caught her with a fast tightening of his arm. He kissed her like they hadn't just fucked, until she couldn't catch her breath and had her nails sunk in his arm. She gladly rolled flat onto her back at his urging, welcoming his weight as he settled over her. Whatever else they did wrong, this part was always right. The lamplight cut stark shadows across his torso, highlighting his lean and chiseled abs and pecs, his veined arms. The soft glow from the low-wattage bulb turned his tattoos to bright oil paintings come to life. Ava let him take her wrists together in one hand and crank her arms up over her head, hands pinned to the pillow.

As she moved into every touch, even as her body came alive, she registered somewhere, deep down, that getting this part right wasn't going to be enough for the long haul. She was afraid they'd come apart at the seams before he acknowledged that there were some things a good fuck couldn't fix.

**-O-**

Holly wasn't sure if she should go to the clubhouse after all. She'd really fucked up earlier, at the house. Tig wasn't Clay or Chibs or Jax, she knew that, and likewise knew that she couldn't get away with pressing him for information like the other Old Ladies did. Or…who was she kidding? She wasn't his Old Lady. And behavior like she'd demonstrated earlier only proved that the likelihood of her ever becoming one was slim to none.

So it was with caution that she approached the clubhouse from the parking lot at 12:17 that night, or next morning, as it were. The party inside seemed to have dwindled. It was mostly hangarounds who enjoyed the sweetbutts' company in the common room, though she thought she recognized Bobby in a dark corner. Neither Happy nor Ava was in sight she noted with a touch of satisfaction. And the blonde crow eater she'd seen earlier was at a table with two other girls. _Good._

She found Tig at the bar and had half expected him to have a girl draped over one arm. But he was talking to Chibs about something, neither of them entertaining women. Holly climbed onto the stool beside him and waited, becoming more apprehensive the longer he ignored her and continued chatting with the VP. She didn't even eavesdrop on their conversation – it wasn't her style.

Eventually, Chibs excused himself. "Hi, darlin'," he offered to her with a smile before he walked away from the bar.

Then Tig rotated toward her, his eyes a bright pop of color in the dark room. He didn't smile, didn't even blink. "Those lips of yours stop feeling so loose?"

She nodded.

"Good. C'mon."

**-O-**

He let her stay. Told her to in fact. "Just go to sleep," he'd mumbled and had switched off the lamp, half pulling her up over his chest as she'd settled in and his breathing had eventually evened out.

But Hap was up early the next morning. Ava woke on her own about six thirty – she'd gotten damn good at reading the brightness of the light beyond the windows in relation to actual time. She was on her side and cracked her lids to find him sitting up on the edge of the bed, smoking and rubbing his left knee with a grimace.

Ava watched him a moment – she could see only one side of his face, and took complete inventory of all the little lines and creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Didn't miss the way the pure, early sunlight highlighted the gray lurking in the stubble along his cheek. There was a good sprinkling of gray on top of his head too, on the rare occasion he grew a shadow of hair while he was out on the road without a razor.

A shudder rippled through her. She would turn twenty next week, but she was never going to catch up to him; he'd always be so much older and forever slipping over the horizon ahead of her.

Ava sat up slowly, the shots from the night before making themselves known by way of a headache. The only sign that Happy heard her stir was that he stopped massaging his leg, and sat quietly as she moved up on her knees behind him. She wrapped her arms slowly around his neck in a loose hold, and pressed her naked front to his naked back: one of those tender gestures he didn't protest that she'd always found comforting. She could feel the slow thud of his heart under her palm. And his ribs and all the sinews in between expanded each time his lungs filled with air. She would always fight the prejudiced notions that she just liked bad boys or got some extra sexual thrill knowing he was so much older and forbidden. But she craved these moments, when it was just the two of them, and she was allowed to love him and not need any justification.

He stuck his cigarette between his teeth and then took a loose hold of each of her forearms where they lay against his chest, lightly moving the rough pads of his fingers across her skin. "What time do you gotta get up?"

Ava turned her head to the side so her cheek rested against the base of his neck. "About seven."

He nodded.

"Do you think…you'll come today?"

"Maybe. Figure the rest of the guys have to."

She knew better than to ask if they were okay, working back toward normal. Their definition of normal anyway. So she stayed where she was, soaking him up a bit longer. Sadness sank heavy in her stomach when he shifted around. He caught her arms though, pulling her over his shoulder and palming the back of her head so he could pull her in for an awkward kiss.

"C'mon," he urged her backward. "We still got a few minutes."

**-O-**

Holly was still sleepy and not sure what had awakened her the next morning. She was on her side, warm and comfortable under the sheets. She could hear the click of a lighter and knew Tig was awake beside her. Which was good, he would keep watch…she still had those moments of near-panic when she was drifting between real life and the world of sleep.

He surprised her when he spoke, and his voice told her he was probably too groggy and hung over to have actually thought out his comments.

"You wanna know why you need to keep away from Ava? I'll fuckin' tell you."

**TBC**

**AN: **The next one will be longer! Promise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Any discrepancies between the events of this chapter and the protocol of an actual outlaw MC are completely my fault. No offense or disrespect is meant. Sorry, I'm a sucker for melodrama. And this story is an absolute joke anyway, so I figured I'd play around with some things and have fun.

…

"I'll fuckin' tell you," Tig said and suddenly Holly wasn't so sleepy anymore.

She sat up, pulling the sheet with her – she didn't want him getting _distracted _if he was on the verge of a revelation she'd been waiting for since the first time he'd mentioned Ava – and scooted back so she could lean sideways against the headboard and study his face while he spoke. He was staring toward the opposite wall, lip curling as he pulled on his cigarette, clearly agitated.

"Okay," she prodded gently, tucking her legs up tight so she was a little taller.

"Ava," Tig's face creased with a dark frown ", is way too involved with this club. Hap _lets _her be too involved. She ain't Gemma!" he was indignant. "She don't run shit!"

Holly nodded, but was inwardly thinking that this was the stupidest reason ever.

"Hap's always had a soft spot for that damn kid. And she's Maggie and Chibs' kid, she shouldn't be anything to _Hap_."

She could read between the lines, had to, all the time. There were always lines with Tig. He, for whatever reason, couldn't believe that his hardass home-boy Happy didn't just have a soft spot for, but loved Ava. And worse than that, he'd let her become an integral part of his life, unlike Tig, who always kept her at arm's length.

"She just came in and no one made her pay her dues." _She didn't get hazed by the other Old Ladies. _"And Maggie…fuckin' Maggie…just let her be with him." _She clearly hadn't learned from her own rocky past and let her daughter follow right in her footsteps. _"Stupid Mags," he muttered the last under his breath and Holly felt a strange pang of sadness at the possibility that Tig might still care about Ava's mother more than he wanted to admit. She didn't want much, but the thought of some long-standing crush coming between her and what she and Tig had made her feel sick to her stomach.

"But why -," she started and he turned his head, a ferocious light flashing in his blue eyes that startled her to silence again.

"You do not want to be like her, Hol," he wasn't mad, but earnest, his gaze super intense. "Ava can't control her goddamn emotions and she can't keep her nose outta club business."

"She's extremely loyal," Holly reasoned.

"But she's a dumb kid." He leaned forward and stabbed at the air with his smoldering cigarette, accentuating each word. "_You don't want to be like her_," he repeated, his voice sounding strained.

A little shiver raced up Holly's spine and suddenly, she had the feeling they weren't talking about Tig and Ava at all. There was something in his eyes, some urgency he was trying to convey without straightforward words.

"Knowing too much is _bad_," he stressed. "Hap always lets Ava know too much. But I ain't doing that with you." She felt herself leaning toward him, dread curling deep in the pit of her stomach. Oh, god, something was going on. Something that was very, very bad. "Old Ladies need to stay in the dark about certain things," Tig continued, voice dropping a notch but growing even more intense. "Don't be like Ava."

Now she was certain, without being told at all, that something dangerous and secret was afoot behind the invisible curtain that separated the men of SAMCRO from their women. And keeping this secret – whatever it was – was a way to protect the Old Ladies. Holly suddenly had the feeling that Happy cheating and pushing Ava away had jack shit to do with babies or missed birth control pills. And as Tig's eyes bore into hers, she knew he wasn't telling her to stay away from Ava because he hated her, but because he was afraid she might get tangled up in whatever Ava knew too much about.

"Ava doesn't know anything," she whispered before she could catch herself, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. She didn't know anything either, but she'd just breached the code of their conversation.

Tig's frown curled up grimly and he shook his head. "Good." Then he pegged her with a look that froze her blood in her veins. "Make sure it stays that way, you understand?"

She felt like the weight of the world – or maybe just the club – had been set on her shoulders unasked. Protect the SOA princess from herself? "Yes," she said without hesitation. "Of course."

**-O-**

There was still dew on the grass, and what was evaporating hung in misty clouds over the middle school rec field. SAMCRO had three booths at the fundraiser that had been setup the night before, but weren't stocked or decorated yet. The PD, booster club, and various retail vendors were just now stretching the banners over their hastily constructed booths. The stage that was really a trailer was already parked down at the end of the field, in the U-bend of the horseshoe-shaped clearing created by the wings of the building.

Ava took one last sip of her coffee, musing over the fact that it helped warm her insides that were still cold from her strange morning waking up with Hap, and then put the cup aside, knowing it would get lost in the shuffle of activity to come.

Maggie stood in front of their small congregation with a clipboard in hand and was assigning places for everyone present. The guys would fill in their designated spots when they eventually arrived.

Beside her, Holly was being quiet to the point of spookiness – her smiles scarce and stiff and words minimal.

"Ava, sweetheart, you're doing the face painting for the kids, okay?"

She nodded. She could do that. Maggie gave directions to the others and she paid little attention, already doing a mental inventory of the things she would need: paintbrushes, cups of clean water, paper towels, two chairs, the paint obviously. She would be working out of the booth that would later serve as Bobby's photo backdrop when he showed up in full Elvis regalia, but for now, it was hers. Ava grabbed the plastic shopping bag that held her necessities and headed for the booth as soon as Maggie dismissed everyone.

As she was laying her supplies out, she realized that she'd been followed, and turned to find their newest Prospect – the one Koz had brought down from Tacoma – standing at her elbow.

"Hi, Pete," she said with a tight smile.

Pete Stallings was probably in his late thirties but already starting to go a little gray at his temples. He had one of those square, tan, lined faces that made bikers look like handsome possibilities instead of frightening dangers – nothing like Hap in that respect. And he was thus far proving to be a dedicated, unobtrusive Prospect, much more suited, she hated to admit, than her buddy Carter was for this life.

"Morning, ma'am." He called her ma'am, which Ava just found too odd for words. "You need anything? I'm makin' the rounds."

"No, I'm fine," she assured. Truthfully, she wasn't feeling much like an Old Lady and didn't want to waited on hand and foot as if she was one. Which, she still was one, right? Or was she just his "kid"? She shook her head fiercely.

"You okay?" Pete asked and she barely managed to force another smile.

"Fine. Really. Maybe you can go see what my mom wants you to do."

**-O-**

"I have no idea how you play this game," Tara confessed and Holly grinned.

It was now just before noon and the first fundraiser attendees were flooding in from the parking lot. She and the doc were staring at the plywood frames leaned back against the brick wall of the middle school and trying to figure out the point system scoring method that involved the big holes jig-sawed into the frame and the bean bags Tara had spent days stitching together.

"I think someone was supposed to paint the point amounts below the holes," Holly said, not very confident in her answer.

Tara sighed. "Whatever. We'll just let the kids throw bean bags and then just pick the winner out of a hat."

"I'm absolutely on board with that plan." Holly pulled an elastic band from her pocket and swept her hair up into a hasty ponytail. It was warming at an alarming rate, sweat already trickling down the back of her neck. And looking at all the bright inflatable attractions and balloons made her eyes hurt now that the sun was directly overhead.

She did a quick scan of the other SOA booths, saw Ava painting faces a safe distance away from the blonde crow eater Happy had been banging. The sweetbutt was with Gemma serving chili alongside a black-haired friend, both of them looking bored and resentful to be helping at this kind of function. Holly had been nervous all morning, worried that the blonde might open her mouth and Ava might go ballistic. Or that somehow, Ava _knowing too much _as Tig had phrased it would become some sort of literal threat to all their security here with all these families and innocents. Her stomach did another little flip as she recalled how intense Tig's expression had been that morning.

"Here, let's put these in the tubs," Tara said, pulling her attention and she helped pile the bean bags into clear plastic containers that were set up on folding tables.

When she glanced back toward Ava, however, her breath caught. The blonde crow eater was standing in front of Happy's Old Lady, hands on her hips.

**-O-**

"What?" Ava asked, pausing with her paintbrush hovering over the cheek of a girl of about five – she was painting a butterfly for her – and glanced up at whoever had just spoken to her.

There was a club girl, a sweetbutt, towering over her, bottle blonde hair blocking the sun momentarily. "I need paper towels," she huffed, nodding toward the stack beside Ava on the table. "Bitch over there said I could have some of yours."

Ava glanced back toward the neighboring booth and saw Gemma sticking plastic spoons into bowls of chili. She took a look at the woman's exasperated facial expression and registered that she was not only a newcomer to the club scene, but that she had no idea that she wasn't also a sweetbutt. "I'd watch what you say about her," she warned, turning back to the poor girl whose eyes had gone goggle-wide at the whore's curse.

"I swear," the blonde muttered ", I have a little fun with a hot guy, and suddenly I'm a fuckin' slave."

The little girl gasped and Ava frowned. "Can you cut that out around the kids?"

She smirked. "Guess I know why I haven't seen you around the clubhouse much." Her smile widened and she winked. "You ain't much fun, darlin'. Come by some night and maybe my guy can show ya a thing or two."

Ava started to tell her who she was, and demand some fucking respect, but her brain was already running through the list of possible "hot guys" she could be talking about. "You know, Jax is married," she warned. "And his wife's here today."

Another smirk. "Oh, I'm not into that pretty boy thing." She backed away, smacking the wad of paper towels she'd picked up against her palm and smiling with satisfaction. "I'm talkin' 'bout Happy."

**-O-**

Happy wasn't big on this kind of town/community/togetherness type event. Screaming kids with painted faces and balloon animal hats were running crazy, shoving each other and laughing. Parents were grouped around picnic tables and walked in clusters, passing out change to the kids just in the hopes that they'd go away again and leave them alone.

He snorted to himself as he dug a smoke out of his pocket and lit it up. Civilians.

He knew his girl was out there somewhere, probably working at one of the booths in the long line against the school's outer wall. He'd go find her in a little bit; for now he was content to linger in the shade of the trees that overhung the parking lot with Tig. Juice and Jax's bikes were here, Bobby's too, but so far they hadn't run into any of their brothers.

Tig was a little on edge today, he could see it in the aggressive way he tried to scrape something off the lenses of his shades with a thumbnail and swore at the stubborn bug splatter.

"You a'ight, bro?"

"Yeah," he said, distracted. He slipped his shades back on and gave him an unreadable look from behind the lenses. "Hey, you didn't say anything to your girl last night, did you?"

Hap didn't have to ask what about. He shook his head. "Nah." It irked him that any of his brothers even had to ask. He wasn't whipped – he didn't tell Ava secret, pertinent club issues that could put any of them in jeopardy…though Tig apparently thought so.

He frowned as he took another pull off his cigarette and exhaled through his nostrils. He and Ava's pill argument had come along at a convenient time. But the sad truth was, he really had been angry – _was _angry. And he could have kept her safely in the dark without pushing her away like he had. Their problems went deeper than this incident, though. He knew it, she knew it, and right now wasn't the time to deal with them.

"Hey," someone greeted and he glanced up to see their new Prospect, Pete, walking up the slight hill to the edge of the lot.

Hap gave him a little nod and Tig didn't acknowledge him at all.

"Things are goin' okay," he informed, clasping his hands together in front of him as he came to a halt.

"Good," Tig said. "Now get lost. We don't hang with Prospects."

**-O-**

Try as she might, Ava couldn't get that sweetbutt's smirk out of her mind. And as the afternoon stretched on, her hands became so shaky she botched a perfectly simple flower on an indignant little girl's cheek. She kept dashing at tears before they could get fully formed. But it was no use. Happy had cheated on her, right under her nose in her own hometown, just like he had every right to do…but shouldn't have wanted to do. They were on a steady downhill slope and she just didn't know what to do.

Holly came by at three to ask how she was doing and she was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped, spilling her cup of paint-tinted rinse water all over the seat of the chair she'd been using for the kids. It was one of those metal folding chairs with a cloth cushion in the seat and it was instantly soaked.

"Goddamn it," she muttered, leaping to her feet and mopping hopelessly at the cushion.

"I'm so sorry," Holly said, trying to come to her aid. "Shit, Ava, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, it's not you," she said, flopping down in her own chair again, miserable. "I'm just having a bad day."

Holly nodded, green eyes wide and sympathetic. "Why don't you take a break? You've been at this all day."

She shook her head. "Some of these kids are wiping their faces off and coming back for new paint, I swear." She stood, stretching the kinks out of her back. "I'm gonna go to the gym and grab another chair. Be back in a bit."

Holly looked like she wanted to say something else, but just smiled again as she walked away.

The fundraiser was still in full swing, the band already setting up on the stage. Ava felt a pang of loneliness even amongst all these people. Juice and Opie had found a shady spot and were smoking, both of them laughing at something one of them had said. She contemplated going over, but dismissed the idea, feeling like it was useless anyway. The gym loomed ahead and the crowd thinned. Now she not only felt alone, but truly was.

It was hot and stuffy in the gym, the old smell shooting up Ava's nostrils and taking her all the way back to her one year of middle school here in Charming. The high gloss floor that had been scuffed hundreds of times by countless pairs of sneakers still glowed yellow beneath the light that poured in through the high-set windows. The fluorescent overheads were off since the building wasn't being used as anything besides storage during the fundraiser. She spotted the stacks and stacks of chairs against the far wall and headed that way, the door closing behind her with a loud crash of metal-on-metal, her boots heels rapping like gunshots against the old waxed planks of the floor.

A flash of movement at the edge of her vision caught her eye and she turned her head, finding a woman leaned back against the wall, smoking. It was the blonde from before, the one Happy had…

Ava blinked hard and pressed on, pulling a folding chair from the stack and heading back for the door, willing herself not to break down in front of her Old Man's new plaything. "You're supposed to be helping Gemma," she bit out tersely, marching at a fast clip, lugging the chair along at an awkward angle under her arm.

"I suck dick, sweetheart, I don't slop chili," the bitch retorted and Ava cast a murderous look in her direction, grinding to a halt.

"There's lots of fathers out there who might enjoy your skill set, then."

The blonde pushed off from the wall, hand with the cigarette dropping to the side and face crinkling up as she stepped toward her. She was a big woman, sturdy, Ava thought, with big breasts that could stand a pushup bra, big hands, big legs, big false lashes glued to her eyelids. She had to be close to Happy's age and was not a thing like her own slender, fragile-looking self. It made her wonder what the hell Hap had seen in this whore…or, maybe…what he saw in her, because the contrast was startling. The thought put tears at the back of her eyes and she bit down hard on her tongue to keep them at bay.

"Who the hell are _you _to say?" the blonde asked, coming even closer.

"Happy's Old Lady," she spat, more from hurt than indignation.

She expected any reaction but the one she got.

The blonde's mouth fell open, her eyes popping wide. "Oh, shit. No, no you're not!"

"Well he obviously doesn't respect me," Ava said through clenched teeth ", but you'd better fucking believe it, bitch."

"You _can not _be an Old Lady. No way." Her eyes kept getting wider and wider, until the crow's feet at the corners all but disappeared.

"I don't have time for this," Ava muttered, starting to walk away, but she grabbed her arm.

"Are you gonna tell him what I said?"

"What?"

"You can't…shit! You can't tell Happy what I said to you. I didn't know, and I…shit!"

"You afraid you'll get tossed out on your ass?" Ava snarled, yanking her arm away. "Tough shit."

"You don't understand!" she wailed, voice high-pitched. Ava thought there were tears in her eyes as she started panting like she'd just run a relay race. "I didn't know you were an Old Lady…or I never would have…I can't believe…_stop walking away from me!" _she shrieked the last.

Ava gave her a look, now disturbed. The woman had gone from smirking bimbo to strung-out junkie pawing after a dealer in a matter of seconds, true panic heavy in her voice. "Get outta my way."

"No!" the blonde grabbed a hunk of her brittle blonde hair with her free hand, shaking her head. "No!" Ava swore she looked terrified, her lip twitching, breaths coming in short bursts. "No way! Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"

Ava heaved a sigh and stepped around the now-hysterical sweetbutt, striding toward the door…when suddenly something slammed hard between her shoulder blades. The chair clattered down out of her grip and she was tackled to the ground. The _sweetbutt _tackled her to the ground.

She had only one shocked moment to register that before the blonde was gripping her chin in one big hand and used it to slam her head down against the gym floor.

**-O-**

"Where's your friend?" Holly asked rather innocently of the black-haired sweetbutt who was supposed to be co-managing the head of the chili line.

The girl shrugged elaborately. "She went to take a smoke break. Said something about the gym."

Ava had gone to the gym after an extra chair. Holly's stomach did a little flip when she thought about Happy's Old Lady running into the whore he'd been banging and cringed at the possibilities.

She was jogging by the time the gym came into sight.

**-O-**

Brilliant white stars exploded behind Ava's eyes. The pain was so sharp it didn't register – her head felt suddenly cold and too heavy to lift. Something sharp prickled her neck. She heard a hiss, like grease frying in a pan, and knew that the woman's cigarette had been pressed to her skin.

_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…_

Her vision still blurry, Ava bucked under her attacker, boots scraping the slick floor for purchase. The blonde was leaning low as she held the cigarette to her throat and Ava hiked her elbow back, catching her somewhere in the face. The blonde let out a yelp and Ava felt her weight ease off her back. She scrambled up on her hands and knees, not getting far before she was kicked hard in the ribs. Pain cut, sharp as a knife, through her side. She wondered briefly if she'd cracked a rib.

She gasped at the pain, but managed to dive sideways, catching the blonde around the ankles and sending her crashing down to the floor, landing hard on her flat ass with an _oomph _asthe air left her lungs on impact.

Ava had done enough self-defense training and boxing with both her dad and Happy that she was pretty good in a fight. In a fair fight, against an equal opponent. Now she was unarmed and caught off guard, head swimming thanks to its meeting with the gym floor. She dove toward the blonde, hoping to get the upper hand, wondering why in the hell this was happening, and instead caught both of the sweetbutt's feet against her chest. She went sailing backward across the floor, all the breath knocked out of her.

In her mind, Ava saw herself spring back to her feet, crouched low in a fighting stance, saw herself deliver a hellish kick to the blonde's gut. But instead she lurched clumsily upright, clutching her chest, still trying to gulp in air with strained sounds. Her head throbbed, so dizzy she thought she might collapse. And here came the bitch again, advancing on her with a crazed horror in her eyes. She looked like a cornered animal, her lips pulled back in a frightened snarl as she reared back her fist. Ava lifted her arm, already wincing, knowing her attempt was pitiful…

_Bang!_

The blonde's deranged eyes rolled back and her whole body became boneless, crumpling to the ground with a dull thud, head smacking against the floor much in the same way Ava's had.

Ava glanced up, startled, panting, and saw Holly holding the metal folding chair she'd dropped. Tig's girl was breathing hard too, but her gaze was totally composed and held none of the insane fury that the sweetbutt's had. _She's done this before _Ava thought before she could stop herself.

"You okay?" Holly asked.

Ava started to answer and sat down hard on the floor instead, the room spinning around her. She shook her head in the negative and screwed her face up tight against the fresh blast of pain it sent pinging around in her skull. She braced her palms on the slick floorboards and tried to focus on her breathing – and on staying conscious.

"Stay here," Holly said. "I'll be right back."

Her shoes retreated across the gym with quick raps, but soon returned, someone else with her, someone with heavy boots that thudded loudly inside the empty gym. Ava felt hands under her arms and tried to help whoever was lifting her, but her head just hurt too badly. He didn't need her help, whoever he was, as he picked her up to a standing position and then hooked an arm behind her knees, lifting her to a fireman's carry. He smelled familiar. Ava opened her eyes as her head fell back against his shoulder.

"It's okay, babe."

It was Juice, she could see him now, fighting the heaviness of her eyelids as she recognized the thick column of his throat against her forehead. "I can walk," she protested, wiggling her legs. Which was a lie because she had a concussion, she was positive, but she didn't want to be carried out of here as the sad girl who'd been beat to a pulp by Hap's fuck-and-chuck sweetbutt.

Juice toted her out of the gym and the light outside was instantly blinding. Ava clamped her eyes shut, but it did nothing to help the nausea that slammed into her. "I need to get down," she said desperately, and couldn't keep from gagging. That was all Juice needed to know, though, setting her on her feet just in time. She curled over the grass and vomited up what little she'd been able to put in her stomach that day.

Hands swept her hair back off her clammy neck, keeping it safely out of the way: Holly. She recognized Holly's voice as she told someone ", she's inside. Pretty sure she's still out cold – I whacked her a good one."

Goddamn…Holly had really come to her rescue back there.

Stomach empty of everything, feeling like it had caved in on itself and her throat burning, Ava sank down slowly onto the grass, wiping the corners of her mouth with her fingers. She felt a little better, less nauseas, but her head felt like it had been cracked in two like an egg. She looked up, the world spinning, and saw Happy standing above her. His face was furious and he jabbed the air angrily as he pointed at someone.

"Put her in the van and wait for me," he told whoever it was, voice a growl.

Was he mad at her? Again? Even through the pain and dizziness, Ava wasn't sure she could take anymore of his disapproval. She felt the wetness of tears sting her eyes.

And then suddenly he was crouching in front of her, kicking her chin up with a knuckle. His face was tight and unreadable, but he no longer looked angry. "Hey," he turned her head gently to the side and she winced just at the slight movement. "What happened?"

"She jumped me," she said in a voice that didn't sound like it belonged to her. "I tried to hold her off but…" Ava closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

"You're alright, kid," he assured.

At some point between the time that he scooped her up and then started walking her toward the parking lot, she blacked out.

**-O-**

"Here." Holly didn't register that she'd actually pushed Happy out of the way in order to buckle Ava into the passenger seat of her Camaro until she was straightening again, earning a nasty look from Tig at her boldness.

Happy, however, was solely focused on his unconscious Old Lady. Tara was already jogging across the parking lot toward the car and Maggie wasn't too far behind her.

"I doubt there's much Tara can do for her. She can take a look, but Ava needs to go to the ER," she reasoned, repeating the plan that Happy himself had already laid out as he'd carried her.

He nodded. "Yeah." Rubbed a hand back across his head. His face gave away little, but Holly knew, just by virtue of the fact that he hadn't snapped her head off yet, that he was worried beyond measure.

Juice and Opie joined them – they'd been putting the blonde sweetbutt in the back of the van before the PD could figure out something was up. Holly was terrified that the cops crawling all over the fundraiser might realize that something was going down at any moment, and very much wanted to get away from the middle school.

"Is she alright?" Juice asked. His eyebrows were knitted together and he rubbed his mohawk in much the same way Happy was rubbing his head – sort of curious if she thought about it.

But she didn't, was already waving Tara around the front of the car.

"Take Juice with you to the hospital," Happy said and Holly nodded, forcing herself to make eye contact with him. "Keep us posted." He spared her a fast, appreciative nod, and then he and Tig turned toward the van, Tig aiming a finger at her in warning.

Which was useless. She knew exactly where they were going. And wouldn't have breathed a word about it to anyone.

**-O-**

"Are you kidding me?" Jax sounded just as indignant over the phone as he did in person.

Tig sighed loudly as he checked over his shoulder and merged the van onto the entrance ramp that would put them on the interstate and the hell out of Charming, hopefully before anyone figured out what was going on. Jax was irate, but that couldn't be helped now. Their plan of keeping the girl alive until they could weasel some info out of her had gone south the moment Ava had revealed herself as Hap's Old Lady. "It's gotta be this way," he forced a light tone, going for logic.

The President sighed on the other end of the line. "Christ." Tig could picture him rubbing a hand down through that scraggly blonde beard of his. "I know," he muttered after a moment.

Stupid Jax was still hung up on the whole "woman" thing. Which, Tig was certainly no saint, but he didn't just go around smacking bitches…much. He'd never lay a hand on one of their girls – not Gem, Maggie, Tara, not even little Ava as much as she irritated the piss out of him most of the time. Melinda Bartlett, however, had nothing to do with "women" any longer. And everything to do with club security. He'd seen the bitch get in the black sedan out in front of the grocery store, he knew what she was about. But he'd waited, not so patiently, because Jax wanted to figure out how big this thing was, see who else might have been involved. Melinda had blown her fucking cover going after Ava, though, and she'd sealed her fate on two accounts right on the spot.

Tig cut his eyes toward the passenger seat and saw Hap staring out the window from behind the lenses of his shades, calm and impassive. Hap wasn't seeing the bitch as a woman either right about now. He kept imagining what it must have looked like when his girl's head had been slammed against the gym floor.

Tig flashed on a moment years ago, when Jax had prevented them from killing a witness. This was bigger than just a witness. This was someone who was intentionally going to rat out the club in order to save her own pathetic ass. Just like he had been that night way back when, Hap was more than ready to deal with this problem. And Tig would be damned if Jax was going to get in the way again.

"Yeah," Jax said. "Okay…shit. Look, this had better not blow back -,"

"It won't," he cut him off. "We're going _out of town_," he stressed the last, not willing to say it over the phone, but knowing that their destination was now clear.

"A'ight."

Tig's thumb crept toward the disconnect button.

"Hey," Jax said. "Don't let him go insane with it. Ava's alright."

Tig felt himself smile as he cast another glance toward Hap who still rode calmly along, watching the scenery. "Hap doesn't do 'insane'."

**-O-**

Melinda had panicked, plain and simple. And now she regretted it. She so regretted it. The van bounced over another pothole and the side of her head – already pounding – thumped against the metal floorboard of the cargo compartment. She blinked furiously against tears, her lashes beating against the handkerchief that had been tied around her eyes. And her jaw ached where it was strained by the dirty rag that had been jammed into her mouth as a makeshift gag.

If only she could take it back. If only she hadn't freaked out when the brunette girl had identified herself as Happy's Old Lady. She'd tried to kill her, sure, probably would have. But not because she wanted to. Not at all for that. It was just that she'd been so afraid she'd be found out. That the girl would go back to Happy and tell him that she, Melinda, a lowly sweetbutt, had been rude to her. She knew you didn't mess with Old Ladies. So taking that one out – at least knocking her unconscious – had been her best chance of escape.

She'd just panicked. And she'd never been too good with stressful situations. Just like she'd made the bad call when the man in the suit had asked her to sign that piece of paper, the one that would mean everything she told him about the Sons of Anarchy would be taken down as evidence against the club.

But what did you do when you got caught with a dime bag of coke? You cooperated with the law. Even if that meant becoming a confidential informant.

She regretted that decision now, as the van lurched to a halt and she heard the gears shifting beneath her, the vehicle parking finally.

The rear doors opened and then hands, she didn't know how many sets, hauled her out. She stumbled when her feet were set on the ground, not able to keep up with whoever was walking her forward. Her shoes had come off in the transit and her bare toes scuffed through sand. A hand shoved her hard between the shoulder blades and she managed only another step before the momentum of the push sent her staggering down to her knees. Her hands were bound with tape behind her back and she couldn't catch herself, felt the sand bite into her flesh.

"Hold still, bitch."

That voice…oh, God, it was _him_.

Her blindfold was yanked away and the world was revealed at last. It was dark and she was kneeling in the middle of what looked like empty desert – she couldn't see anything beyond the van's headlights, which were pointed at her.

A man stood in front of her, just a dark silhouette, but she knew who it was. Knew whose hand pulled the rag from her mouth. She knew, deep down, the man in the suit had warned her about this. She had maybe one shot, just a slim one, and she was going to take it.

"I didn't mean to hurt her!" she blurted the second the rag was free. "I swear!"

"Nah," he drawled, calm. "You just meant to _kill _her, didn't ya?"

"No!"

Something cool and smooth brushed the hair from her temple and then pressed against her skin, round and hard. _Gun, _she thought with a fresh surge of panic.

"Don't lie. We already know you're dealin' with the feds."

"I didn't -," the muzzle of the gun pressed against her head and she yelped. "Okay, okay! I didn't want to though! I just had to get away. She's little, so I thought if I hit her head she'd -,"

"Die, right?" the gun kept digging at her temple.

"Maybe…I dunno…yes! Okay? I wanted to kill her! But just so I could get away! Not for anything else. Please…" she sobbed, couldn't hold back anymore. She bowed her head, gun still pressed beside her eye, and felt tears pouring down her face.

"Who else is wrapped up in this shit? We know you ain't plannin' it out."

"Just me," she moaned.

"What," she heard an unmistakable _click_ ", did I say about lying?"

Even as she squealed in fright, she wondered if…maybe…it was a long shot…

"Will you let me go? If I tell you?"

"Who?" he asked.

Melinda lifted her head a fraction, staring at his denim-covered knees. "P-Peter," she stuttered. "Pete Stallings. He used to be a cop. I met him in Utah…the feds had already gotten to him by then…he pulled me on board, it wasn't my fault! I had charges in Salt Lake, Pete said he'd help me take care of them, took me to see Agent Foster -,"

"Shut up," he said, and she did, lips trembling once she'd closed them.

"I'll call Jax," someone who lingered just out of sight beside the van said. Must have been the other set of hands that had pulled her out.

"And Juice," Happy said. "Tell him to watch my girl."

"Yep," she pegged the voice as belonging to the one with the curly black hair.

Happy crouched down in front of her suddenly, so fast she jerked backward as far as her restraints would allow. He wasn't hot now. Now the sideways slant of the van's headlights put shadows under the creases along the side of his face, and his eye sockets seemed black and hollow, set deep in his head like he was just a skull with skin pulled tight over it. She flashed to the reaper she knew was tattooed across his back and shuddered violently. He _was _the reaper. And he was not hot and not sexy and nothing but terrifying as he stared at her like a wolf.

"Do you know," he asked, voice a low rumble ", who she is?"

Melinda nodded, a fresh wave of tears tumbling down over her lower lids.

"You were gonna rat out the club. And you were gonna kill my Old Lady." Not a question.

She nodded again. Hiccupped.

Happy stood and she saw his right arm come toward her, gun glinting faintly in the dark.

"Please! Oh, shit, please -,"

He grabbed a thick handful of her hair and cranked her head back on her neck. She thought she saw the glint of his demon eyes as she felt the hard, cold muzzle of the gun get thrust between her lips. He chipped her front tooth.

Melinda tried not to, but she screamed, the sound muffled around the gun. Right up until he pulled the trigger.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

There were fifty-two acoustic tiles above her head. Ava closed her eyes again and lost count, swallowing hard and not succeeding in pushing back her nausea. The ice pack she held to the giant knot on the right side of her head numbed the area out – the pain wasn't quite so acute – but she imagined her skull was throbbing, visually expanding and contracting like that of a cartoon character. At some point in her four hours at St. Thomas, she'd probed around with the tip of her tongue and located a place in her upper lip where her own teeth had gouged a deep sore; most likely also a product of the head slam to the floor. A quick peek in the shiny steel surface of the elevator door had proved that she was going to have two black eyes and a mess of other bruises down the right side of her face.

She'd come to in the parking lot of the hospital. Juice had been lifting her out of Holly's Camaro. Everyone else had stayed behind at the fundraiser, not wanting to raise suspicion by leaving all at once. Maggie had called at least a dozen times and Holly had fielded the calls because it just made Ava's headache worse. Juice had been off and on the phone with the guys, voice dropped and face tight. He didn't have his laptop and that seemed to be the source of much frustration. "I can't do anything about it here!" he kept insisting.

"Hey, guys," Ava recognized Tara's voice and sat up on the exam table she'd been stretched across. Which was a mistake because she was instantly dizzy and held her breath against another retching fit. She didn't have anything left in her stomach, but her gag reflex didn't seem to want to acknowledge that. The doc was still in the peasant top, jeans and heels she'd worn to the middle school, but had donned her white lab coat over the outfit. She was snapping on a pair of gloves as she stepped into the room. "I finally managed to sneak away and they told me you hadn't been taken up for your CT yet."

"It's taking goddamn forever," Juice quipped from his position in a plastic chair beside the door. He kept glancing out in the hall and it was starting to make Ava just a tad nervous.

"The wheels of medicine grind slowly," Tara said with a frown. She pulled a penlight from her jacket pocket as she approached the table. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

She winced sympathetically. "You know what I mean. Let me take a look."

Ava endured the eyelid pullback routine and looked left and right as told once again. "I'm fine," she insisted. "I just need some pills so I can go home."

"You've had enough concussions to know we can't do that."

_We_. More often than not, when Tara was at the hospital, she was doctor first, Old Lady second.

"Can't you at least get her something for the pain?" Holly asked. Ava and Tara both glanced her way. She stood with her arms folded loosely, leaning against the end of the exam table. Holly had been amazingly calm through the whole ordeal. And though she shrugged off her current condition, Ava became more and more convinced that if not for Holly coming to her rescue John Cena style with that folding chair, the blonde sweetbutt would have finished her off and left her there with a massive brain bleed, twitching on the gym floor until someone finally stumbled in after more supplies. A shiver raced through her every time she thought about the what-ifs. What if Holly hadn't followed her? What if she'd frozen like most bystanders? Or even better…what if Ava hadn't gone into that gym at all? Then Happy wouldn't be off to do God knew what – more like Satan knew what – with Tig.

Tara nodded. "Yeah, I'll see what I can do." She put the penlight back. "Don't let her fall asleep and stay asleep," she cautioned Holly and Juice as she left.

Ava grimaced. "I know the drill, doc."

"Good, then follow it." And then she was gone.

Ava closed her eyes, already feeling the forewarned sleep tugging at her, trying to pull her under. "Have I thanked you yet?" she mumbled.

Holly's boot heels clicked on the tile as she shifted positions. "No need. I was happy to do it."

She felt herself smile in spite of the situation. "Happy to smash a chick's head with a chair?"

That got a chuckle out of Juice. He smacked his palms together, obviously simulating the sound of metal on the bitch's dome.

"You do what you gotta do to protect the people close to you," Holly's tone was serious. Ava cracked one eye open and saw the brunette frowning thoughtfully. There wasn't a trace of remorse in her expression though. Just like Ava knew that she wouldn't be feeling guilty if she'd done the same thing.

Ava's phone rang, "All Along the Watchtower" signaling that it was Hap. Her stomach did another anxious lurch, tickling the back of her throat with another warning that dry heaves were imminent. She glanced over at Juice. "That's him."

He measured her face a moment, eyes sympathetic, and then stood, picking her phone up off the counter by the sink where it rested alongside her other belongings and hit SEND to answer it. "Yo."

She watched him – he was lousy at concealing what he was thinking – and saw his brows crank down low over his eyes as he frowned. "She's okay. Doc Teller showed up and said she'd try to get her some pain meds…hey, it's not my fault. Yeah…yeah, I can do that." And then his mouth pulled to the side and he took a deep breath. "I figured he did, but no way do I believe that…nah, me neither…"

Juice stepped out into the hall and Ava rolled her still-pounding head so she faced the ceiling again. One tile, two tiles, three tiles…

**-O-**

Maggie shoved another of the tin baking pans back into the cardboard box they'd packed them in and cursed when she chipped a nail in the process. "Motherfucker."

Beside her, Gemma snapped her cell closed and then scanned the now-dark rec field for listeners before she leaned closer to her cousin. "Tara says she's having to straighten shit out with the hospital so they can get Ava a CT scan, but then she'll be home. She's doing okay."

Maggie nodded and blew out a tired, frustrated breath. Around them, kids and parents alike held glow sticks and were migrating toward the stage where the local band they'd booked was warming up. Booths were being taken down and Christmas lights in the trees gave the scene a carnival atmosphere. It had taken a monumental effort for her to stay put at the school and not rush to St. Thomas to be with her daughter. Holly – she had to give her credit – was keeping her up to speed on everything, and Juice was better security than most would have thought, but her nerves were jangled.

Gemma pulled the box from her hands and rearranged the contents to her liking. "Just take off, honey," she told her. "It's dark and no one's paying attention to who's still here."

That sounded like a plan. But by the time Maggie had wrestled her purse from the metal lock box where they'd kept their wallets and cash throughout the event, there was a dark man-shaped shadow striding up to their partially disassembled booth. His walk was unmistakable.

"Evenin', Chief," Gemma called, her friendliness insincere.

Hale knew it too, a half smile already plastered to his face as he stepped into the small pool of dim light the Coleman lantern on the booth's counter provided. "Evening, ladies. You heading out?"

"Yeah," Maggie said. She made a hurry-up hand gesture. "So if you don't mind…"

"Didn't mean to keep you." He rested his hands on his gun belt and nodded. "Just thought you might be interested in knowing that I had a visitor stop by my office this morning." He tilted his head, his meaning clear. "Says he's interested in meeting _the family_."

That meant only one thing: Feds were in town.

**-O-**

"She doing okay?"

"Yeah." Hap closed his phone and put it back in his pocket, glancing out at the dark night beyond the van's window. His clothes reeked of smoke and that special hint of charred flesh that most wouldn't recognize, but he knew quite well.

"She inherited a double dose of thick skull," Tig said, chuckling at his own joke.

Hap ignored him. He felt the steady grip of tight, well-controlled fury latch onto him with iron claws. He liked Jax – loved all his brothers – but more often than not, he found himself leaning a different direction than the mother charter President. Jax was selfish, he looked after his immediate family first and club family second. And Jax didn't understand fury, thought it was this raging beast that made you angry, impulsive and unreasonable. _Real _fury was calm, was careful, waiting patiently and logically for the right moment to strike. Hap didn't put fury and logic in separate mental categories: both had worked harmoniously as he'd fucked that stupid slut literally, and then figuratively – the last, ultimate fuck that involved a bullet. But Jax thought logic was waiting to figure out who else was involved with the Feds besides the blonde. He hadn't agreed with Hap's efforts from the get go. All around, his emotional compass was completely without a North. Jax's logic had kept the girl alive, and now his fury was too late and too misguided.

"_You're sure she wasn't miked up?" Jax asked._

_Happy smirked darkly. "Full cavity search, bro. Bitch wasn't wearing a wire."_

"_There's gotta be another piece to this then. No way they just sent in some gash and are gonna take her word for it."_

"Pete's gonna be long gone," he said with a grimace, not knowing what else to call the shithead whose name clearly wasn't Pete.

"No shit." Tig tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles cracked. "That goddamn blonde asshole -,"

"It ain't Koz's fault."

Tig sighed, which was as close to an agreement on the subject as was possible. "What's Juice found?"

"Nothin' yet. He needs his computer and a secure wifi hookup, he says."

"Don't guess it matters. Come morning, we're fucked – whether we know his real name or not."

**-O-**

After Ava went into her parents' home with her prescription pain pills and ice pack, Holly waited until Chibs and Juice had traded brotherly hugs and backslaps and then she backed down the porch steps with a wave for the Scot. "Holly," the call of her name gave her pause, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Maggie in the doorway, her husband having gone back into the house.

"Thank you for today." Her hazel eyes were wide and she tilted her head. Without going into any of the details, Holly knew exactly why she was being thanked.

She smiled quickly. "You're welcome."

Maggie nodded and folded her arms, glanced down at her stocking feet before she pegged her with another serious look. "Things might get rough for the club."

Holly nodded. "That's what I figured."

Maggie twitched a grin. "Good to know."

**-O-**

The vicodin made her woozy, and every time she rolled over, Ava registered shadowy figures lurking in the corners of her dark room that turned out to be products of her drugged-up imagination. The sheets were blessedly cool and a shower had soothed her sore muscles, but her headache still thumped through the haze of the pain meds. And just as she started to really drift off, her mother would come in and nudge her awake again. Every hour on the hour, as directed for people with concussions.

Behind her closed eyelids, the blonde sweetbutt came after her again and again, ragged talons reaching for her throat, eyes wild and rolling around in her skull like those of some wild animal. And then she'd imagine the bitch's claws hooked in the sinewy stretch of Hap's back as he writhed over her and she'd squeeze her eyes shut until tears trickled from the corners. She wanted to scream and throw things, wanted to slap him across the face, see if she couldn't pass along a little of the pain the crow eater had doled out to her. Pain that, indirectly, _he'd _caused her.

Somehow, Hap had always managed to hurt her worse than anyone else in her life: and she knew it was because she loved him so much, and that he had never, and would never be the kind of man who could live up to love.

Her bedroom door creaked open and even the soft light from the hall sliced over her like a laser beam, her eyes still sensitive. She was sure it was Maggie, but then she caught a whiff of fresh Dial soap and the silhouette of the intruder took on a definitive male shape.

Happy sank down slowly onto the bed – his knee must have been bothering him – and sat up straight against the headboard, no regard for the pillows that he squished in the process. She wasn't sure she was glad to see him.

"You awake?" he reached over and Ava shrank backward, his touch landing on her arm instead of her shoulder as he'd planned. He grunted in the back of his throat. "Take that as a 'yes'."

There it was again; that disapproving tone to his voice. She pulled some of her wadded covers aside so she had an unobstructed view of his face through the dim swatch of light that fell across them both through the cracked bedroom door. She wanted to be guarded and proud, glare him out of the room. A part of her almost wanted to hate him.

But it was late and the vicodin was doing more harm than good – the whole room spun around her. And she'd had the shit pounded out of her, had spent five grueling hours at the hospital…tonight, more than she wanted things "fixed", she wanted a safe place to land. Even if he broke her heart, Happy was still safe.

He didn't have to ask anything – he read facial expressions like a pro. He touched the top of her head, his frown softening a fraction as he stroked her hair back. Then he moved down in the bed so he could lie beside her. With a tired sigh, Ava settled in the crook of his arm and closed her eyes. At least until the next hour was up.

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **Thanks so much for reviewing, guys! Keep 'em coming.

This story originally wasn't supposed to be a lead up to "Gets in Your Blood", since Holly was never a part of Ava's story world. But since it's leaning that way already, I am going to explore some of the emotional inroads to the dynamics of "Blood". And because I'm like some of you guys and chuckle to myself whenever Juice is in a scene, I just can't resist. :) After writing his story with Ava, it's hard to go back and see the light in Happy.

…

Juice had long since switched from whiskey and pot to coffee and cigarettes. Around two in the morning he'd realized that he was going to be pulling an all-nighter and that having Jax find him passed out with his face on his keyboard the next morning wasn't a viable option. He took another long drag and then balanced his smoke on the plate of cookies that was also serving as his ashtray and went back to the findings on his laptop. Dawn was fast approaching and though it had taken hours, and his eyes were now prickly with grit, he'd managed to mine through the legal red tape and sort through the fake documents the state websites wanted to offer him in order to find out who the fuck Pete Stallings really was.

The real Pete Stallings was listed as being thirty-five and a parolee from Utah State Prison: had served five years for assault and served his parole period with exemplary cooperation. He had a series of minor traffic violations, but nothing arrest worthy. Known associates were listed as several members of smaller, illegitimate non-outlaw MCs. But nothing jumped out as odd. No record of ever having been a cop.

But despite the frequent inquiries as to whether he was retarded, Juice wasn't, and he'd been able to tell after a few minutes' worth of scanning what the Salt Lake and Tacoma charters had missed when they'd snooped around after their new hangaround – the records had been doctored. He knew enough about the publishing program used to find the holes. And eventually, as in right this minute, he'd finally found what he'd been searching for.

Pete Stallings had died in a bike accident sixteen months prior. And the fake "Pete" was obviously either a cop, or in tight enough with the law that they'd been able to successfully alter records and create a whole new identity for the fucker.

Well, not _that _successfully he thought with an unhappy smile. He flipped open his cell, winced when he saw that it was not even six a.m. yet, but dialed Jax's number anyway.

The President picked up on the second ring.

"We've got something."

**-O-**

Holly shifted onto her side and hesitated a moment. Tig was on his back, staring at the ceiling, awake and smoking though only the barest of predawn lights filtered through the gapped blinds of the bedroom window. The pose was alarmingly similar to the one from just the morning before. Contemplative. Slowly, she circled her arm around his and rested her temple against the point of his shoulder.

"What's gonna happen today?"

He reached up with the hand that held his smoke and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb. "I don't really know. There's a good chance we'll all end up in cuffs before sundown."

She winced at the imagery. "Whatever goes down…Tig, I'm here."

His head rolled to the side and he didn't really smile, but his mouth twitched at the corners. "Yeah?"

She nodded.

"Even if the Feds decide they wanna grill the women?"

She knew it was a hollow question: he already knew the answer, but asking was a way of allaying any worries he might still have. Bottom line, Tig knew she would sooner spend the rest of her days in the women's correctional facility than breathe a word of accusation against the club. "I'm in either way." She wanted to smile, but the sudden lump in her throat kept that from happening. And Tig didn't really respond to smiles anyway.

His gaze returned to the ceiling, but he slid his arm free from her embrace so he could settle it around her shoulders and pull her closer to his side. "You're a good girl." Which Holly figured was as close as he would ever come to telling her how he felt about her. But that was okay with her. Words were just words.

**-O-**

Maggie's house was quiet this early in the morning, even with two extra people beneath its roof. Her body was tired, but her mind was racing, playing out every possible scenario that involved the Feds and her boys. They weren't all _hers_, naturally, but she was more motherly toward them all than Tara was. The one who brought them lunch every day and sewed the buttons back on Bobby's shirts and stocked the clubhouse fridge with that French vanilla coffee creamer Juice liked so much but wasn't willing to run past the cute cashier girls himself. And then there was her husband. And her daughter's man.

She bit down on her lip and stared at the grainy pattern of the ceiling paint through the blue wash of first light. Chibs was snoring soundly beside her; unworried. The man could have slept through anything, even stress over his club.

When it became apparent that further rest would remain elusive, Maggie slipped from between the covers and decided coffee and breakfast were more important than the bags under her eyes.

**-O-**

Ava shook two more vicodin from the prescription bottle on her dresser and swallowed them with a few swigs of Gatorade from a bottle that was God knew how old sitting on top of a stack of notebooks she'd left behind at her last visit home. Her head felt full of wool and heavy as a bowling ball this morning; but the insistent pounding behind her temples had slackened. She had no doubt she looked a wreck; her bruises having darkened to a ghoulish hue. She didn't dare cast a glance in the mirror and see for herself, though, such a gesture seemed too self-conscious considering Happy was awake, one arm propped behind his head, and staring at her.

The man just didn't do polite or graceful. Anyone else would have feigned sleep or carefully avoided eye contact. Picked up a magazine. Something. But Hap just watched her shuffle around her room with the lazy pose and quick eyes of a lion at rest. He could get up and kill a person if the need arose, but for now was content to study her.

Ava used to pride herself on being able to read those animal qualities in him: much of his personality was surprisingly open, it just got misinterpreted a lot of the time. He was carnal and primitive, smart, hypersensitive but not in a delicate way. A lot of the hangarounds and sweetbutts – from the chatter she'd heard through the years – thought he was a lost soul wrapped up tight in a prickly package; misunderstood and soulful, just waiting for the right John Mayer song and whispered word of commiseration from a woman and then he'd crack open and cry and recite poetry and shit.

Happy was not that way. He loved, he worried, he cared, he craved, and he felt things deeply, but in such a way that was so basic and instinctual – no one wanted to believe he was the same on the inside as he was on the outside. She loved that about him…or, at least, she loved _him_, and a lifetime of exposure meant she read him like her own face in the mirror. Which was part of why the iceberg between them was so unsettling. With another man, she might think he was covering some inner weakness with bravado. But with Hap…if all the outward signs showed that he just didn't love her…maybe that was true.

Not just maybe. Definitely.

"You need to eat somethin'," he said flatly. "That shit makes you sick sometimes."

"I'm fine." Her stomach gurgled at the invasion of pain pills and weeks old Gatorade though, proving her a liar.

He snorted. She studied her fingernails; half of them cracked or broken from clawing for purchase on the gym floor, most of the pretty chrome polish chipped. The sound of his lighter was achingly loud in the silent room, as was his first exhale. Her father smoked in the house, but her room was usually a haven from the pungent smell of cigarette smoke – but not this morning.

"Ava."

She turned and saw him crook his finger, knew he wanted her to come to him. His face was passive – still the lion at rest – without any great measure of tenderness or anger. She approached slowly, dragging her bare toes through the carpet, delaying whatever it was he wanted. When she was close enough, he reached forward and took her wrist in his hand; turned her palm up and ran his thumb over the blue tracks of veins beneath her creamy-white skin, admiring the delicate bones and slender, feminine shape of her fingers.

"Sit."

She perched on the edge of the bed and he sat up straighter, so their eyes were on the same level. With the hand that held his smoldering cigarette, he reached to trace the bruising that ran from her hairline to her chin, never coming close to touching her with the hot, smoking tip. His thumb pressed over the round burn mark on her neck and he frowned, a dark expression skittering across his face.

"She wasn't just a sweetbutt, was she?" she was proud that her voice didn't quaver.

His eyes flicked to hers, he conceded her a point for her deduction. "No."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because I tell you too much anyway."

Ava sighed and felt her body threaten to collapse. "Not anymore, you don't. You don't talk at all."

As if trying to prove her accusation correct, he said nothing. His hand moved, probing the knot on the side of her head until she winced.

"I thought coming back to Charming would help," she said wistfully. "I guess it did for a little while." Still, he said nothing. "Things are about to get dicey around here – I know that. But when it's over, we're gonna have to talk. " His frown returned full force and she felt desperation clawing around inside her empty belly, vying with the vicodin for control of her sudden dizzy spell. "Please, Hap," she whispered.

In answer, still maintaining deft control over the cigarette that could have singed her hair, he lightly cupped the back of her head and pulled her face to his. It was one of those searing, dreamy kisses he so rarely treated her with, his tongue slipping gently between her open lips to flirt with hers, until her jaw was loose and she was melting against him instead of being commandeered as was so common. He pushed her back with a gentle prod at the base of her throat. Her eyes fluttered slowly open again, her breathing now deep but irregular. Hap's touch trailed down her chest, her breasts surging forward beneath the t-shirt she wore as she inhaled. He dipped into the neck of the shirt and withdrew his ring that she still wore on a chain around her neck.

He rolled it between his fingers and met her gaze with a pointed look. "I never said I was done with you, kid. We just got some shit to work out…after this is over."

"After," she repeated.

"I promise."

**-O-**

There was no hurry. By eight, Juice had passed word to all of them that whoever the hell Pete really was, he, as they'd suspected, was in the wind. The only logical explanation was that his Fed buddies had swooped him up and spirited him away somewhere. They would try to track him, but for now it was just a waiting game.

Tig didn't rush through breakfast; Holly made him eggs, hash browns and bacon. He had realized some time before that domesticity was a coping mechanism for her. If she was worried, stressed, angry, she was either cleaning or cooking. Mending clothes. Weeding the sad flower beds out front that were too shaded to grow much of anything. From the moment he'd brought her into the shitty little house, she'd treated it as her own, trying to make it more livable, slowly turning it into a home for herself and not just an empty shell where he crashed every so often.

She was at the sink now, taking a scrub brush to the grease in the bottom of the skillet, her own plate cooling on the table, untouched.

"Hol, come eat," he ordered. He'd already said it once, and now he was getting unhappy about it.

In a rare show of aggravation, she let the skillet clang against the side of the sink as she huffed and grumbled, turned off the tap and came to her chair. She snapped a piece of bacon in half and took a small bite, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I needed to get the dishes done. I don't want the grease to sit in the pan all day if I -,"

_Get called in for questioning._

She was terrified.

Tig sighed. "You remember the last time the Feds were in town?"

She nodded.

"This ain't half as bad as that. And that cunt Stahl got her ass demoted, so they won't even know what buttons to push. "

Holly looked unconvinced.

"No one saw you hit the bitch with the chair. They can't touch you."

"It's not me I'm worried about," she admitted, using the bacon to poke at her now-cold eggs. "You and Happy, you -,"

"Didn't do shit that you know about," he cut her off harshly. "So get that out of your head right now."

She nodded, but then caught herself, took a deep breath. She looked at him with wide, sad eyes. "I'm just saying, what if…you get accused of something? And you get locked up?"

"It don't pay to worry about shit you can't control."

"Tig," her voice was tinged with frustration. "Can you just please stop being so vague for a minute? I know you don't like to talk about it, but I want to know. What happens if you get locked up? What happens to me?"

**-O-**

Different name, different face, same ugly, cheap-ass suit. Every time he had the unfortunate pleasure of dealing with federal agents, Hale was reminded that wearing a uniform on the job wasn't so bad. Agent Holt, ATF, was obviously from somewhere in the Bible Belt with that drawl of his, and he had one of those wide, pug faces with fat jowls and cheeks that seemed perpetually red like he'd just run a race or was embarrassed – neither of which was true. From the neck down, he was a fit guy, tall, looked like he kept in shape despite the unflattering black suit and skinny little _Blues Brothers_ tie he had secured to the front of his shirt with a clip. Though a boisterous, letter-and-spirit-of-the-law antithesis of the last ATF agent to shake up Charming, Holt was not a welcome sight. Especially not behind Hale's desk bright and early on a Sunday morning.

"You were at that fundraiser yesterday," he said, glancing up from the scattered files on the desk and fixing Hale with his best nonchalant cop look. "Did you see Bartlett there?"

The chief shrugged. "I think so. But girls come and go at those sorts of club events. There were half a dozen hangarounds and lots of club tail working their booths, hard to keep track."

Holt nodded, though he looked unconvinced, and went back to the files he'd been scanning. "This one," he tapped Trager's mug shot. "Teller, Telford, Munson and Morales too. I'll start there. Pull in Winston and Ortiz if I have too. Then -," he reached for a brown folder on the edge of the desk, one that Hale had hoped he would ignore " – we talk to their women."

Hale snorted. "That'll be fruitful."

The agent puffed up a bit as he flipped through the candid surveillance shots one of his underlings had snapped of the SAMCRO Old Ladies. "You can't bully the females. You have to make it worth their while. And they're…what? A porn star, a house wife and couple of kids? Cake walk, chief."

"Mrs. Teller is a pediatric surgeon."

"Well, pardon me while I shit myself," he snorted, stood and straightened his jacket. "I'm not afraid of biker chicks. You shouldn't be either."

**-O-**

The day was pregnant with worry and waiting, it felt like everyone was sluggish, trying so hard to be casual and normal that it felt strained. And then finally, around two o'clock, it started.

Ava spent the day at her parents' house, helping her mother sort through several old boxes of books – taking some of Maggie's novels that looked interesting. All the while, her stomach churning at the thought of what was about to happen. Then there was a knock on the door and she just knew, a tight, invisible fist closing her throat as she heard a strange male voice ask Chibs to come down to the precinct.

A few minutes later, a bike pulled up outside. It was Juice, rubbing worriedly at his mohawk.

"Hap?" she asked when he sank down onto the living room couch next to her. Maggie had gone to the kitchen to get him a beer.

"Picked him up too. Now I guess we just wait some more."

**-O-**

The agent reached over and pressed the record button on his ancient mini cassette player, the soft _click _and a look that was meant to be foreboding signaling that this was an official, on-the-record interview. Which Hap of course already knew. This suit just thought it necessary to enforce old school interrogation tactics designed to make the suspect edgy.

"Alright, Morales, why don't you tell me about Melinda Bartlett."

Hap frowned. "Who?"

A picture was produced from the folder in front of the agent – a surveillance shot of the blonde sweetbutt who'd attacked Ava as she strolled across the lot at T-M. "Just a few days before we lost contact with Melinda, she told me she was spending time with a few of you boys." He twitched his bushy eyebrows. "And that one of them was you."

"I 'spend time' with lots of women. They all start to run together."

The agent – Holt he'd said his name was – looked to Hap like one of those out-to-save-the-world types. A little like Hale really. His accent marked him as originally out of state. And he had one of those weight lifter necks that made him think the guy had probably been a former football hero looking for a college scholarship, but sidelined by an injury, had sought an oh-so fulfilling career in law enforcement instead.

Something Ava had said a few weeks before came back to him. _"I'm so tired of reading the same story over and over," _she'd complained, chucking a paperback across the coffee table. _"Always the 'haunted cop' who used to be a quarterback, 'thrust into an unlikely situation' with the reporter, the lawyer, the medical examiner, the doctor…and let's not forget, the lady cop. 'Professional obligations give way to soaring passions'," _she'd recited from memory. _"Fuckin' cops."_

He felt the stirrings of a smile, but had no trouble keeping it at bay. His girl really did hold most of the rest of the world in contempt. She would have hated this Holt character. _"Straight out of a bad made for TV movie!" _he could practically hear her.

"Well, now, you see," Holt turned the photograph around so he was looking at Melinda. "It's real funny how Melinda just up and disappeared. I hear you've got a steady Old Lady these days."

Hap conceded with a shrug. Asshole had obviously been briefed on the entire family situation by Hale. Not to mention Ava was probably on one of those lists somewhere of innocuous associates.

"How do you think she would have taken to knowing about you and Melinda?"

He didn't answer.

"Melinda was at the SAMCRO sponsored fundraiser at the middle school yesterday. As was your girlfriend."

Insinuating that jealousy could have sparked a reaction out of Ava, trying to get him to slip up and admit something in order to defend Ava, was a really cheap tactic. Happy folded his arms and sat back in the chair, good and ready to stare a hole through this loser until he finally became too impatient and kicked him out of the interrogation room.

**-O-**

The dream, though always the same in parts, had altered some in the past months. Now instead of chasing after his retreating form, she held the baby – her baby – in her arms and rocked him side to side, cooing to him. He had the fattest little toes and those smooth, unblemished baby cheeks. He was perfect. Angelic. And as had become custom, Hap was there. She turned to him, with their son, and offered him the baby. But Happy refused to take him, lifted his hands, wanted no part in the handling of his offspring, and the baby fell. Down and down and Ava screamed and lunged but it was like the floor opened up and he fell like a dropped stone. And kept falling and falling, heedless of her screams…

Familiarity didn't make the dream less terrifying though. She snapped awake, still on the sofa, clothes damp with sweat and clinging to her, chest heaving. She dug her nails into the arm of the couch and glanced wildly around, the vicodin giving her head the feel of a tilt-a-whirl as it wobbled on her neck and she struggled to blink through the dizziness.

Juice was on the other end of the sofa, and she'd obviously startled him. He held the remote in one hand and looked poised to use it as a weapon if he needed to, eyes darting around the room before settling on her. "What?" he asked, half-worried, half-annoyed.

"Sorry." Ava pulled in a deep breath and fanned her hot cheeks. "Just a nightmare. These stupid pain pills are making me delirious."

He seemed to accept her explanation, easing back against the cushions, remote lowering to rest on his thigh. "Musta been a bad one." An almost guilty look passed across his face. "You've been talking in your sleep for a little while."

Oh, shit. What had she said? Considering the dream, it probably hadn't been very complimentary where it concerned Hap. "It's the drugs," she tried to play it off. "Sorry I bothered you."

"Nah, its okay." He hesitated. "Hey, um…are you alright? You've been kind of -,"

"Miserable?"

"-off."

Ava shrugged and stared at the TV. He was watching something about sharks on National Geographic. She wasn't going to tell him that she was having trouble with Happy, and he knew that. Should have anyway. She'd even been unwilling to say anything before, when she was still in high school, before she and Hap were…

She frowned. "Why are you still here?" she asked, flicking a look his direction.

"Your dad wanted me to hang out until the Feds turned them loose," he said with a shrug.

"My _dad_?"

"Yeah."

But she didn't believe him. Yes, it was something her dad would ask. Chibs loved Juice; there was an obvious favoritism for his "Juicy-boy". Had she been with Juice, had her teenage experimentation turned to something real, her father no doubt would have been the first to toast at their wedding, the proudest grandfather of little half Puerto Rican babies on the planet. But Juice coming to the hospital with her the night before, hanging around now; Chibs was all about his strong females being able to take care of themselves…no, this all reeked of Happy. Ava groaned, imagining more secret promies between brothers and letters left to be opened in events of his inevitable demise. "Oh, Christ, he's not already feeding you prison clause lines, is he?"

"Who?" Juice's face scrunched up and his usual dumbass-ed-ness was what almost kept his ignorance believable. Almost.

"Hap!"

He was incredulous. "No!" He stood, sighed, and then sat back down again. "Okay, so maybe he asked me to look out for you while we get shit figured out. But it's nothing like what you're thinking."

"Juice -,"

"Don't even go there," he insisted. "I catch so much shit – Tig calls you my fucking bride-to-be – Hap wouldn't do that. He just wants you to be safe. That's _all_."

But he looked about as convinced as she felt.

**-O-**

Agent Holt crushed his empty water cup in his hand and stared through the two-way glass back into the interrogation room he'd just left. Bobby Munson was at the table, fingers steepled and propped beneath his chin. He was humming lightly to himself – "Heartbreak Hotel" – and like the others had been, didn't appear at all concerned to be in the hot seat. And unfortunately, like the others, he'd yielded no information.

Holt was starting to feel like he'd been put over a barrel. Mickey James, a.k.a. Pete Stallings, had yet to show up at the designated rendezvous point. And since his last communication that the sting was a bust and Melinda's cover had been blown, they'd been unable to reach him via the prepaid cell he'd been using. Melinda had up and vanished too. Both were ghosts, and here sat the Sons, obviously involved, but Holt didn't have a scrap of solid evidence he could pin on any of them.

Teller had been cocky. He was pretty sure that Scottish asshole was certifiably insane. And then the other two – Trager and Morales – would have given Ted Bundy the creeps.

"Well," Chief Hale said from beside him. He had his hands resting loosely on his gun belt, a bland expression that was just shy of a smile on his face. "Now what?"

"We bring in the women," Holt said with more confidence than he felt. "We'll get one of them to talk."

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

"_I'll figure it out."_

That had been Tig's solution to her question: what's gonna happen to me? Tig didn't admit ignorance or defeat willingly, so even though his shoulders had been carefully relaxed and he'd had a forkful of scrambled eggs hovering in front of his mouth when he said it, hearing that he didn't know something had sent icy stabs of fear shooting through her. Asking had been a bad idea; she hated to sound selfish and dependent, which, she really _was _dependent. Tig was her only link to the club's friendliness and protection. While it wouldn't be impossible to live on her own and look after herself, she knew, with a defeated internal sigh, that she didn't want to. She liked having a home and a place and a role and a person who wanted her around, however unwilling he was to ever voice that to her. She didn't want to lose that. And moreover, she didn't want to become club property if Tig got locked up because he'd never actually pronounced her his Old Lady.

This was one of those times when slapping a label on something would have been real helpful. Now, with her hands folded meekly in her lap as she rode in the plush rear seat of the Crown Vic that had pulled into her drive only minutes before, she was neither Old Lady, nor girlfriend…nothing but this ghost who inhabited Tig's house.

Charming rolled by slowly through the heavily tinted glass of the window, and she had an idle wonder if the thing was bullet proof. Families – mothers with children tugging on their hands and fathers popping into the grocery store with their church clothes on – milled about on the sidewalks, lazy Sunday foot traffic. Normal. Happy. People with no idea that in the back of this car, Holly felt a tremendous weight pushing down on her chest at the prospect of what lay waiting on the other side of this trip through town.

"Too hot back there?" the agent in the passenger seat asked, startling her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you comfortable? Or would you like me to turn the AC up?"

He was very polite. Holly shivered and folded her arms. "No thank you." Polite could never be trusted: the nastiest sharks had the widest smiles.

**-O-**

Agent Holt smoothed his thinning, sandy hair back with one hand and tidied the papers in front of him with the other. He had gone over his plan of attack until the thoughts were second nature. He would be taking a wholly different tactic with the women of the Sons of Anarchy than he had the men. Casual, companionable silence, plenty of smiles, a patient tone; be that sentimental man they didn't see at home or the clubhouse.

SOA was not his first motorcycle club – he'd taken down another, albeit smaller and less infamous, club in Nevada just a few months before. The Old Ladies and club sluts had not been the leather-studded video vixens Hollywood painted them to be. Half of them strung out on crystal meth, poorly dyed hair and skin that had been well-baked from spending so many years on the backs of bikes, these women were used to men with heavy hands and short fuses. Nervous and twitchy like trapped rabbits, a little touch of kindness had gone a long way toward cooperation. Holt planned to employ that technique again.

Across the table from him now was the petite brunette who was most closely linked to Trager. She had these big green _Gone With the Wind _– what had that actress's name been? – eyes, and the kind of slim oval face that made her look almost cherubic. She looked clean and healthy, those eyes that reminded him of whateverthehell that Scarlett chick's real name was were clear and lucid. She was in worn, but again, clean jeans, a dark blue tank top and a little white zip-up jacket over it. It was all very casual and tidy – girl next door with a hot twist.

He reached over and hit _record_ on his tape player. "This is Agent Holt interviewing Holly Jane Jessup," he said loudly for the benefit of the agency, then gave Holly a tight smile. "Thank you for agreeing to come in today, Holly."

Her head dipped a fraction so she was glancing up at him through her lashes, not, he could tell, in a way that was meant to be seductive, but he found himself liking it nonetheless. "Of course," she said, tone light and even.

"Busy afternoon?" Soften the mood with general, routine questions designed to put her at ease.

She shrugged. "Been taking some bleach to the old patio furniture, but I'm about to decide it's a lost cause."

"Perfect day for working outside."

He got a nod.

"You filed for a change of address on your driver's license about six months ago. Is that how long you've been in the house?"

Another nod.

"It must keep you busy. Lots of redecorating and do-it-yourself projects I'm assuming."

"I enjoy the work," she said. "I'm going through a room at a time in order to stay on budget. It's fun. I like going to the flea market and finding hidden gems."

He didn't give a flying fuck what kind of flea market trash-to-treasure shit she did. But he was hoping that line of questioning would prove the right one. "Do you live alone, Holly?" he forced a wide smile. "Or do you have someone to help you with those home improvement projects?"

"Tig is home at least a few times a week. He spends nights here and there. And he does all the plumping and electrical work."

"Tig being Alex Trager?"

"Yes."

"And you're his Old Lady, correct?"

Holly hesitated, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. Her gaze flicked away, landed somewhere in the near space, and her shoulders lifted with the smallest of sighs. "Tig is my all-of-the-above. But we don't use that term, so no."

This was a surprising turn of events. Holt had a moment of mental scramble as he tried to digest this new piece of info and figure out how to use it to his advantage. "Not his Old Lady, huh?" he stalled.

"No."

And then he had it. "That must be terrible." When she started to shrug, he continued ", I mean, all these women surrounding the club and no real sense of security for you. It must make it difficult to blend with the Old Ladies…walking a line between the groupies and the wives…that's gotta be tough on you."

He expected her to start with the rapid-fire blinking and a small nod of agreement. Maybe have to glance away before she was overcome. Instead, she tilted her head to the side. "I wouldn't say that," her voice didn't falter. "I'm grateful for the life I have now, and that's all I could ask for."

**-O-**

Ava used the ends of her nails to tuck a stray hair back into place where it had escaped along the crown of her ponytail. The whole left side of her face felt like it had had an up-close-and-personal with a baseball bat. A gym floor was probably a close enough substitute. And her body was achy and tight all over, but she had dressed in conservative, trendy clothes and had done her best to hide her bruises with makeup. Maggie had nodded approvingly at her appearance before they'd let themselves be escorted to their ride by the two agents who'd come to "request" their presence down at the precinct.

Across from her, on an equally uncomfortable bench in the little waiting area outside the deputy bullpen, Gemma waited with one high-heeled sandal bobbing as she twitched her leg impatiently. She hid any worry she might have felt behind a bored gaze as her dark eyes slid over the gurgling water cooler, the little league baseball plaques that showed the kids in their department-sponsored jerseys gathered around their trophies, the classified ads flapping on the bulletin board, and Ava knew she missed nothing.

"It's taking a long time," Maggie said under her breath, glancing toward the door they'd ushered Holly through.

Gemma brushed her bangs aside with a manicured hand and gave mother and daughter a pointed look. "She'll do fine."

Oddly, Ava believed her. She was starting to see what the Queen saw in Tig's girl – which made her feel stupid for not having seen it before.

She hadn't seen Happy since that morning. She figured he was at the clubhouse now, and though, at an earlier time, she would have pulled strength from seeing him before she went in to face the Feds, now she didn't really care. Another of those blank, unfeeling looks of his would have done nothing to soothe her nerves. And, really, she was peeved.

Juice had fumbled around a few minutes more on the couch, trying to assure her that things were fine – but she knew. In the midst of their Cold War, with his knee problem and now the Feds circling around like buzzards, Hap was leaning on Juice, reminding him of the promise he'd made, already testing the waters between the two of them. Suddenly she knew what girls in arranged marriages felt like.

The door to one of the precinct's two interrogation rooms – the one Holly had disappeared into – opened and her head snapped up. Holly emerged first and then a red-faced agent with a too-small black tie poked his head out, the tie swinging like a dead, limp black snake from his fat neck.

"Ava?" he asked, and when she started to stand, his eyes zeroed in on her and then crinkled up when he smiled. "Would you come in here, please?"

She stood and smoothed her hands down her outfit, shooting for calm and poised, though her heart was suddenly a Mexican jumping bean behind her ribs. She passed Holly on her way in, and, in a barely perceptible gesture, the other girl touched her forearm and offered a quick squeeze. The accompanying smile was plain. _You'll do fine. _

Fuck it…Ava really did like Tig's girl.

**-O-**

"And you understand that everything you say will be taken down as an official police statement?" Holt used his practiced, calm tone.

"Yes."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to have an attorney present?"

"Yes."

Av Telford – though it said Morales on one of his lists, the girl wasn't married – was due to turn twenty in six days, and that fact alone had Agent Holt stunned. She was medium height, 5'5" or 5'6", her deep brown hair pulled back in a high, tight, shiny ponytail that she smoothed every so often with a long-fingered hand. Her parents' genetics had blended together in the best possible way: a cute little nose, almost-exotic, dark eyes, cheeks the smooth color and texture of cream. She was very pretty, elegant even. Dressed in a thin gray t-shirt with a modest V neck and jeans, she could have been any other almost-twenty-year-old girl out for a day of shopping and socializing.

But her face had been beat to hell. Dark, purpling bruises marred her temple, cheek and jaw, angry and almost a little puffy in places. She'd done the best she could with cosmetics, but she had the obvious look of someone who'd been slapped around. Though she'd attempted to conceal it with makeup, her shiner was one of those that would turn yellow and take weeks to fade. None of the marks looked like handprints, but that didn't mean anything. The bastard just as easily could have tossed her up against a wall, or used a household appliance as a weapon. He'd worked a case, as a vice cop once, in which the perp had beaten his girlfriend to death with a toaster. If the flat, dead look in Sam Morales's eyes had been anything to go by, the guy was certainly capable of that kind of violence.

He gave her a sincere smile. "I don't want to take up too much of your day, Ava, just have a few routine questions I hope you won't mind answering."

"Sure thing." There was a marked difference between this girl and Holly Jessup. Rather than the upright, hands-in-lap, obedient posture of Holly Jessup, the Telford girl leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples in an unconscious gesture of pain. She had a headache. And she was comfortable both in her own skin and in this precinct.

"Are you feeling okay?" It was always good to establish a sense of concern. "Would you like some water? Maybe an aspirin?"

"I'm fine." She sighed and sat forward. "What do you want to know?"

"Your father's a Son, isn't he?"

"You already interviewed him."

"Right, right…just making sure all my facts are in order." He offered her another smile and realized it wasn't doing a damn bit of good. "And you're Sam Morales's 'Old Lady', correct?"

"MmmHmm."

"Sounds like you're pretty invested in this club then."

That earned him a scrap of a wispy smile. "You could say that."

**-O-**

"Yeah. Yeah…nah, it's okay. I'll come pick you up." Tig disconnected his cell without saying good-bye and slipped it in his pocket. Holly had been cut loose and he knew, even without her assurances, that she hadn't said a damn thing out of turn to the Feds.

Just like she'd done exactly what she had to for Ava the night before, and nothing more.

"Hey, Jax," he called across the parking lot. His Prez – and he always thought that term very loosely – was headed toward the garage office. With Gem and Mags both down at the precinct, T-M was in a state of contained bedlam.

Jax paused, cigarette dangling out of his mouth, looking impatient as he fished out his lighter. "Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you a sec? I got a personal request."

**-O-**

Ava was never so glad to _not _have to deal with her mother. She nodded and forced a smile and told Maggie that it had gone fine and that she'd wait outside while Agent Holt spoke to her, and then she escaped out onto the concrete and brick entry staircase of the precinct, ignoring Gemma's curious glance.

The hot blast of air outside was welcome, and she sat down on the top of the steps, shaking all over. Agent Holt wasn't the oily, quick-witted type of ruthless cop who would stop at nothing – but he thought he was clever in his own way. And he'd done some digging, that was for sure. She'd been able to stand the insinuations that her Old Man had beaten her. And she'd been stony-faced when he'd suggested that maybe she'd been with Hap before she was eighteen and that statutory rape charges could come into play.

But then he'd talked about Juice getting arrested one Halloween for vandalism, and how he'd been caught egging a house with a minor whose name had been excluded from the records because of her age. That had been a fun Halloween – getting a little revenge on this asshole who'd deserved it and blowing some steam. And then even though he wasn't crafty, and he'd sweated through his cheap suit, Holt had talked about her face, Juice's lack of notable violent charges, and the sinister appearance of Happy. He didn't know – there was no way he could – Holt had no idea the kind of deal Happy had made with Juice in case he ever bought the farm. He'd used her father, and cousin, and Juice as leverage – just tell him what he wanted to know about Happy and he wouldn't touch the rest of her family. He hadn't known that she was savvy to his lying, that she knew he'd bring RICO into effect regardless of who got pinned for Melinda Bartlett's murder…but whether or not he knew how deeply the suggestion had rattled her, it had.

"_I've seen lots of young girls like you. You love him, and you wanna believe he loves you…but you're trapped. Let me help you, Ava. And then you can be with your family, your friends, and you won't have to worry about Sam anymore."_

It was ludicrous. Telling him the truth would have meant revealing that she actually had made contact with the no doubt dead-as-shit sweetbutt. So she'd played her part exquisitely. And now felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach.

With a deep breath, she dug her cell out of her pocket and scrolled through her call list until she found the number she was looking for. It rang once…twice…

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

"Ma'am, there's no smoking in here."

The woman sitting across the table from him withdrew her freshly lit cigarette from between her lips and exhaled a thick plume of smoke, meeting his eyes boldly. "Really?" her voice dripped with a false lightness. "I didn't see a sign."

Gemma Teller-Morrow: the former Queen bee of not just Charming, but all of the Sons. She still looked good for a woman of her age. And her husbands' stepping down obviously hadn't done a thing to her sense of entitlement as the cigarette continued to smolder and she tidied her heavily highlighted hair with her free, manicured hand. The lacey edge of her rhinestone-studded top plunged low into her cleavage, a nasty scar and a faded tattoo of a crow plainly visible. She wasn't half as modest as the younger women had been.

"Mrs. Morrow," he prodded, sliding his own Styrofoam cup of water toward her.

"Oh, fine," she griped, dropping her smoke in and extinguishing it with a hiss. "Happy?"

**-O-**

Maggie glanced up from her paperback romance when she heard two sets of heels coming across the tile floor. Tara and Lyla had arrived together – the doc in sensible, low-heeled ankle boots, Lyla in sky-high gray suede stiletto booties. And their outfits matched their shoes.

"Hey, girls. They bring you guys in too?"

"We were at the fundraiser," Lyla said with a bland shrug, folding her lean, elegant self down onto the bench beside Maggie.

Tara sat down opposite her, in Gemma's abandoned seat, arms folded over her corduroy jacket. "This is _unbelievable_," she hissed. "Do they honestly think we won't get our stories straight first?"

"That's the thing about cops…egos the size of their fat heads," Maggie said and Lyla cracked a thin smile. "Is Ava still sitting out front?"

"No," the porn producer shook her head. "I think Happy picked her up."

**-O-**

"It's beautiful up here."

The sun was behind them now, and though it was low, Hap could still feel its warmth on his back. Below them, Charming was dotted with trees and looked like a welcome oasis to the hot, bare patch of earth where they were sitting. He'd found this outcropping of rock years before: it butted up to the slowly crumbling base of a closed bridge; the side road a dead end that branched off the much larger highway. There were no trees, just scrub growth, and the view of the town down below made the short climb up the hill worth it. At least that's what he had always thought. The instant look of awe on Ava's face had proved that she thought so too.

She'd had to take her hair down so it would fit more comfortably under her helmet, and now it fell loose around her shoulders, the ends curling slightly. She kept tucking it behind her ears when the wind pulled at it. He studied her the way she studied the horizon, not missing any of the tiny signals – the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes tonight, the way she fiddled with a frayed thread along the inseam of her jeans. As the sun continued to recede, a mild breeze picked up, and she rubbed her bare arms. She was unhappy. And he knew it.

Happy didn't understand most women. They always seemed to have agendas and plans and their pretty smiles were full of fangs. But he'd always understood Ava. No matter how dreamy, ridiculous, overzealous or downright insane her motives, they were always pure. And he was all about pure: lust, rage, calm, love and loathing…he didn't feel anything in increments or halvsies. She didn't either.

"Thought you might like it up here," he said, stretching his legs and letting them dangle over the size of the massive rock they were sitting on.

"Mmm. I do." She sighed. "We don't ride enough anymore."

And they didn't. When she'd called him from the precinct to tell him that she was done and needed a ride, her voice had quivered. He'd known it was time to have it out with her. So they'd just ridden, her arms banded tight around his waist, her face pressed against his shoulder, until it couldn't be held off any longer and he'd finally brought her up here.

"Don't guess we do."

_Awkward_ was not a word he normally associated with the two of them. But suddenly it was. So because she was the one of the pair of them who did the meet-and-greet, the one with the vocabulary and the extreme love of words, he opened the floor up to her. "You told me you wanted to talk," he prompted.

She turned toward him, her hair sliding over her shoulder, eyes deep and dark in the waning sunlight. She twitched a smile, but she didn't give him the blind look of adoration he'd become so used to. That absence of unquestioning worship was a warning sign, one he should have been paying attention to all along.

"I do," she said. "I'm just not sure where to even start."

**-O-**

"You don't have to stay," Holly said. "I have to be here till closing."

Tig frowned as he watched her busy herself tidying things behind the bar. Of course he didn't have to stay. Did he look like the guy who hung around with big, puppy-dog eyes, waiting on a girl's every move and word like some whipped pussy? "I know that," he said irritably, but reached for another handful of peanuts anyway.

It was the dinner hour, which meant Rodney's was packed with the locals who didn't have dinner at home waiting on them. Tig's cut meant he didn't have to fight to keep his stool, but heard the other patrons around him arguing and squabbling to get a chance to get up to the bar and order. Holly was in full hummingbird mode, flitting back and forth, not spilling a damn drop of beer and somehow finding a smile for the slimeballs leering at her.

Tig didn't have to wait, and he knew that. He'd dropped her off and she'd seemed shocked that he followed her in. But the more he'd thought about it, the more Holly's defense of Ava had really started to resonate with him. He was feeling low enough after talking to Jax, so he might as well tell her now and get it all out in the open.

"When do you go on break?" he asked her, nearly having to shout to be heard.

"In about an hour."

**-O-**

Bless the girl, she really could be graceful when she wanted to be.

"I don't ever for a second doubt that you'll take care of me," Ava started. "You've been here for my whole crazy, fucked up life, and I never worry about being safe, or having a roof over my head. I trust you more than anyone. And you've never let me down." She frowned. "But yesterday…" she trailed off and shook her head.

"I didn't want you to know any of it," Hap said. "Didn't want you have to think about a cover story if the feds showed up."

"I get that." But being in the dark wasn't what bothered her most, and he knew it. He watched her bite down on the inside of her cheek, and her expression told him she didn't want to say what came tumbling out of her mouth. "But you could have just told me that there was club stuff you had to handle -,"

"Could I?" he heard his voice get dark and heavy and decided to preoccupy his hands with the search and subsequent lighting of a cigarette. Ava was still looking at him with a wounded expression. Goddamn it, why was _he _always the one that made her want to cry? "Jesus, baby…it's not about that anyway and you know it."

"But it _is _about that, it's about all of it." She was frustrated and he really couldn't blame her. "You made me look like a fool in front of my hometown charter. And it was when I was here and I could have -," she sucked in a deep breath and glanced away from him. He knew she was trying not to let him see her get emotional. "I know you love me, but I'm thinking you regret taking me on as your Old Lady." Her eyes flashed up to his, shiny with unshed tears. "Are you trying to break up with me?"

She may as well have slapped him considering how much the words stung. They sounded stupid when he heard them aloud, no matter the direction of his thoughts lately. And it was such a little-girl way of putting it, "break up" like they were high school sweethearts or some shit.

Or, come to think of it, he really _was _her high school sweetheart.

"No," he was firm. And then, because she had doe eyes and that always tugged on the part of him that remembered her when she was much younger, he softened his tone. "No. I wasn't blowin' smoke when I said I wasn't done with you."

She didn't look too relieved.

"You think I'm ever gonna be able to walk away from you? I think we tried that shit, and it didn't turn out pretty."

Relieved or not, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Decidedly not."

"But what we're doin' now…it just ain't workin'."

"What we're doing now," she repeated, and then blew out a loud breath. She glanced away from him. Hap swore he could feel the tension in her, could see the tightening of her muscles as she stared down at the toes of her boots. "Your leg -,"

"My leg's fine."

"No it's not!" She bolted up off the rock and whirled around to face him. She didn't look angry, though, so much as hurt. And scared. Her hands came up in the air in a helpless gesture. "I'm not trying to emasculate you, Hap, I know I can't tell you what to do, I'm not trying to tell you what to do. Shit, I'm not saying this right… but your leg is _anything _but fine!" He started to protest and she cut him off. "I'm not gonna pretend you're not hurt and that it doesn't scare the shit out of me to watch you just ignore it. I feel guilty every day about the accident, about me getting you hurt…as much as I want you to be, you're _not_ fine." Her voice was a thready whisper at the end, her eyes glazing over as she remembered the brilliant blue of the sky and the tangy scent of burned rubber, no doubt remembered the feel of the gun in her hand…there were certain memories that haunted her that he could never get her to let go of.

"Why does it piss you off so bad that I just try to take care of you?" she went on, her tears no longer at bay but rolling down her cheeks, catching the faint, glimmering light. "I have no idea how to be the right kind of Old Lady if you won't let me be one."

He was starting to get a headache. This conversation had already gone on much too long and now she had to go and bust out the waterworks. He knew it wasn't contrived, he knew everything she said was true and slowly eating away at her until she had finally become this crying, emotional mess of a girl he didn't usually have to deal with. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. She'd been tossing his own cold vibes back at him for weeks – the empty sex and vacant glances. She wasn't supposed to be reliving old nightmares and questioning whether he loved her, getting shivery inside every time Juice showed up in his stead because the thought of him ever needing a replacement made her want to weep.

Hap took a deep, steadying breath and faced what he'd hoped had changed, but obviously hadn't. She'd always been his "kid", had loved him and been connected to him on a deeper level than he might have achieved with a peer. Who was he kidding, as if he liked women his own age anyway. But that was beside the point. She was _Ava_, and it really wasn't going to matter if she was the worst damn Old Lady in the world – which she wasn't – or if she was still young and struggling with him getting older. He'd had the same damn mental argument before. Obviously, the stagnant life he'd been leading since injuring his leg a second time was bringing the same old shit to the surface again. Neither one of them was objective when it came to the other, so they might as well not try to do this the hard way if they didn't have to.

"Ava," she was staring back over her shoulder, desperately trying to wipe the tears that kept falling, and looked embarrassed when she glanced at him. "C'mere."

**-O-**

Tig let her wait a moment; lit a smoke and leaned back against the rough brick wall of Rodney's Bar's exterior. The parking lot reeked of exhaust fumes and the lighting was shitty. The dim security lamp spit and hissed and glazed Holly's dark hair with a yellow sheen that made her look mysterious and exotic. He offered her his cigarette, knowing she'd refuse, and wasn't wrong, but it bought him a little time. And he got one more look at her gracious smile and heard her light "no thanks" that confirmed his embarrassment in front of Jax was worth it.

"Yesterday," he said ", when you helped Ava." He glanced over at her, saw that she had turned sideways to face him with one shoulder propped against the wall. He was the sole focus of her attention, her eyes wide and glimmering under the faint light. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I really did, though. It didn't feel like I had to. I wanted to…well, you never _want_ to hit anyone…"

Tig couldn't help it – he grinned.

"But I like Ava. She isn't as much of a brat as she pretends to be. She's just careful, and protective of her family. And I can't blame her for that." Holly cocked her head, deeply thoughtful, her voice nothing but sincere. "She's a part of _your_ family, and that makes her important to me."

Holly had a very fucked up, black-and-white way of looking at the world. And a blind allegiance to him that was staggering. Whether he understood how all that worked or not, he could appreciate it. It was what had led him down with this road with her to begin with.

"You did good," he told her, and meant it. "Yesterday and today." Even in the shadows, he could tell she absolutely beamed at the praise. It made his next question a little easier to ask. "You remember what you asked me this morning?"

She pushed away from the wall and the light sliced down over her face. Her lips were drawn, eyes wide. She definitely remembered both the question and his answer.

"I went and talked to Jax -,"

She inhaled sharply.

" –and he understands that, if anything happened, if I ever had to go away for awhile, the club is supposed to treat you like you're…"

Holly looked positively reverent.

He sighed, rolled his shoulder. "Mine," he finished.

It was silent a moment, her breath a gentle rush through her parted lips. He could tell there were a number of things she wanted to do, namely hug him and thank him until it became an embarrassing spectacle he wanted no part of.

But she proved his statement to be the right one when she nodded and then moved to put her back against the wall beside him, staring out at the parking lot. "Thank you," it was nearly a whisper. And he felt the soft flutter of her hand against his arm as she looped it into the crook of his elbow. She was shaking head to toe.

**-O-**

Whatever was going on in the world, between them even, Ava knew there would never be a time when Happy's physical presence didn't comfort her. She hadn't needed sex this time, or dark looks, none of that, but _this. _That magic one-liner of his – "c'mere" – that meant that it was going to be okay.

He was sitting on the ground now, his back to the rock, and she leaned back against his chest between his raised knees. It was dark, the meager lights of Charming sparkling down the hill below them. With her head turned, her cheek rested over his heart, and she could feel its steady thump, found relief in how warm and solid he was around her.

But there was so much that still bothered her. She reached up and touched his bum knee, could imagine she felt its twisted, wounded inner contours through his jeans and flesh. "You know," she stared softly ", when I asked you if it would be so bad – if I was pregnant – I wasn't trying to get a rise out of you. I really did wanna know."

He sighed, his chest heaving beneath her head. But he didn't sound angry anymore, just tired. "What the hell do you need with a baby? You're too young. And I don't want a kid."

"Not ever?"

His lack of hesitation stung. "No."

But it wasn't just a short-term sting. It was a deep, long-term ache that had nothing to do with her empty womb. She didn't feel a pang when she saw mothers with strollers on the street. It went so much further than wanting a bundle of joy in her arms. And maybe, in the interest of ending the arms race, she needed to carve open her heart and lay its contents out there on the dark, cool rock for him to look at before he made any more of those snappy comebacks.

"Hap," she took a deep breath. "I never meant that I wanted to have a baby right now." When he didn't respond, she took it as encouragement. "When you made the deal with Juice…I'm not blaming you or anything…but it makes me worry. He's your contingency plan, but for me…it would be a baby." She felt his muscles clench in an invisible signal of disbelief. "I know, I know…I'm being crazy again. And I'm sorry. But the 'what if' seed got planted and I can't root it out. I want, sometimes I feel like I _need_, so intensely, something to love that's a little piece of you that's all mine."

He sighed, stroked a hand down the back of her head. "A kid is not a contingency plan, baby."

"I don't just want _a _kid, I want _yours_."

"We'd end up hating each other."

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, knowing, but not wanting it to be true. She could see it: see the resentment on his face, see the baby crying in her arms while she cried herself. And though she wanted to hate him for not being that man who wanted children and brought her home flowers…she loved him all the more for knowing his own limitations. And the dream, it was just a dream. How could she risk the real thing in front of her for a 'what-if'?

It hurt though. Damn did it hurt. "I hate the idea that I'm _never _gonna have that," she whispered.

Hap was stoic and silent as ever. But it didn't infuriate her this time. This time she knew that she'd said too much, but that he wasn't going to scold her for it. The object between them wasn't an ice berg, wasn't a war, wasn't even cold; it was his grim resolution about the fact that she was turning into this person who wanted a house and a family and he not only wasn't prepared, but wasn't capable of giving that to her. For as long as she could remember, Hap had been her everything – but as the disillusioned glow of puppy love faded, she was realizing, with horror, that he was a man, mortal, breakable, full of faults and incapable of certain emotions – like the grief and love she still harbored for the weeks old fetus she'd lost two years ago.

She twisted in his embrace, moving so that she was up on her knees between his legs, her chest pressed to his, her arms flat along his ribs. The whites of his eyes glittered dully in the darkness. "I'm sorry," she said with a shaky breath. "I should never have put you in this position."

She saw the faint flicker of shadow that meant he'd smiled. And coming from him, a little smile meant big things. "You're a good kid." She felt his arm come around her waist and he pulled her up higher, so they were face-to-face. "We just need to work some shit out. Can't be so damn attached like we are."

**-O-**

"_I was stuck playing games with the kids all day. 'Mother Gemma' didn't want me dealing with adults in case any of the fathers recognized me from one of my movies…"_

Muttering in disgust, Agent Holt switched off his cassette recorder and massaged his pounding temples. It was late, he'd skipped dinner and was subsequently chewing on a handful of Tums thanks to his acid reflux, and so far, not one teensy-tiny clue had been revealed. He'd listened to the interrogation recordings a half a dozen times. And the doctor was still snippy and the porn star – scratch that, _producer_ – was still sleepy-eyed. Maggie Telford still had an attitude problem and her cousin Gemma Morrow an even bigger one. The two young ones were still mystifyingly stoic. He was starting to understand the fury that was laced in Agent Stahl's chickenscratch case notes.

Someone rapped softly on the open office door and he found Chief Hale watching him, hands on his gun belt as per usual.

"I'm callin' it a night," he said. "Two of my unies are still here if you need help pulling files. Can I get you anything before I leave?"

It might have been his imagination, but Holt could have sworn that Hale almost seemed smug about the whole situation. "No," he dug a fresh roll of antacids out of his pants pocket. "I'm fine."

**-O-**

The first floor motel room smelled musty and damp, but it was pushed out by the sharp bite of the strawberry lip gloss that he'd kissed down her jaw and throat. It was slippery, sticky sweet and her tongue tasted like it when plunged his own inside her mouth again. Hap managed to kick the door shut behind them as they awkwardly made it across the threshold, thankful it locked automatically because he didn't want to break away from her long enough do it himself.

Ava had her leather jacket on over her t-shirt, and he shoved it back off her shoulders. She shook her arms free desperately and then her hands were back under the hem of his shirt, nails biting into the hard ridges of his abs and chest. He two-handed her ass and lifted her up – she didn't weigh a damn thing – and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Your le-," she started, pulling away from him, but he ran his tongue up the hollow of her throat and her protest about his leg turned into a soft, pleased sigh. Maybe he had limitations these days, but he sure as fuck wasn't about to be accused of not being able to pick his girl up.

She bounced when he dropped her on the bed, but she jack-knifed upright again just as quickly, peeling her shirt over her head and flinging it down onto the floor. When she reached back to unhook her bra, he cupped her tits, the bright pink lace rough against his palms, her nipples hard buds as she arched her spine and leaned into the touch. She popped the catch and he peeled it down her arms in a sharp move, wanting her bare skin under his hands.

She had great tits; high, perky and round. And he knew just how sensitive they were, climbed over her and slipped an arm behind her back, flexing her spine and bringing her aroused nipples to his mouth.

It wasn't enough though. He was no master of foreplay. He could hold off and wait if he wanted to, if there wasn't a sense of urgency about the whole thing. But her cheeks were still salty with tears and he knew she was still wrestling over the fact that they'd never be a family the way she wanted, and he couldn't wait.

Jeans and boots, his shirt, it all came off in desperate, panting silence. Ava mewled like a cat when he was finally inside her. Better than the party before, not hollow, but warm and hungry. She clung to him. He could feel her leaving scratches, and pounded into her without reserve.

So much for not being attached.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

Noelle had been one of those mothers who sacrificed. Happy – back when he'd been just Sam – hadn't been aware of all the ins and outs of that, but he'd seen her come in late with her striped skirt and white apron, smelling like the greasy steam clouds from the diner down the street. And he'd spent many a night with either a babysitter, or occupying a booth while his mother worked. He'd liked the diner, at least up until his mom started coming home with dark, tired rings under her pretty green eyes. His mother had had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. And when she went to work, she coiled her shiny brown hair up on top of her head and then the steam would turn the loose ends curly until they were damp and clung to the back of her neck.

He'd started drawing at the diner. With an endless supply of blank, white placemats and a pen from his mother's purse, he'd killed his boredom with doodles…that had turned to shapes, to pictures, to details and shading and lines. He'd been working in a tattoo parlor, wiping down the benches and taking out the garbage and gleaning tips from over the artists' shoulders by the time he was fifteen. And eventually, he'd been the one to hold the needle.

His admiration for ink fed his admiration for detail. Artists didn't miss the little things – the veins in ivy leaves, the little dark spaces between teeth in portraits, the way the horizon went from blue to butter yellow without a trace of green. And he'd started to notice things at home. Noelle's long-fingered, elegant hands, callused and tan from the sun while she tended to her tomatoes. The lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. The way, even when she smiled, she was so, so very sad inside. She cried when he got busted for defacing public property – putting a mean collage of graffiti on the side of a building in their St. Louis neighborhood.

On the way home from the police station, her hands had quivered on the wheel and she'd told him about his father, the one he'd never known. Galtero Morales was Mexican – which he knew – and according to his mother, one of the tall, noble-looking men with more Spaniard in him than Mayan – which he also knew. But the matter of not having a father wasn't just a case of him running away. Galtero was in a Mexican jail. He'd attempted to rob a bank and had killed four people in the process. Through all of it, the horror of learning that her husband was not only never coming back, but that he wasn't even in the same country as he'd been the last time she'd seen him, Noelle had never offered to divorce him.

And that was when Hap had realized that his mother was weak.

Ava was weak the same way; she loved through all the blemishes and all the pain and was delirious with how much she loved him sometimes. He curled his body around hers in the motel bed, his arm slipping around her tiny waist and holding her tight to him as the sun came up and filtered through the gaps in the blinds.

He'd taken Ava to see Noelle once. Years after he'd thought his mother weak, years after his rebellious, dumbass stage had passed, since he'd stabbed a friend in an alley and washed the blood off his hands in a dirty puddle. Since he'd snorted so many lines he'd come to in an emergency room. Since shaking hands with a man named Otter at a biker rally and having a phone number thrust into his stupid, twenty-six-year-old hand. Since he'd stood watch outside a hospital room while a mother from California held her half-Scottish new baby.

The Sons of Anarchy had saved him. They didn't judge him for what raced through his mind and his veins. And as a grown man, when she'd called to tell him that it was cancer, and that it was incurable, he'd realized just how much Noelle had sacrificed.

It had been one of her good days when he'd brought Ava to see her. The pain and nausea had been held at bay and the medicine hadn't left her weak and dizzy like it sometimes did. She had been lucid, her pretty green eyes clear. She'd been sitting upright in her hospice bed, as white and stiff as the cheap sheets beneath her, a colored scarf wound around her head to hide her baldness, and it had killed him a little because her hair had always been gorgeous.

Ava had been fourteen, and things were rough in Charming, so she'd jumped at the trek to Bakersfield. She'd brought fancy chocolates – truffles with creamy centers – white daisies and a yellow vase to put them in, a paperback novel she'd told him was a "tear jerker" she'd said, "but the happy kind". The details that day had been blinding and bright: The way Ava didn't cringe away from his withering mother, the way Noelle took the girl's face in her hands and breathed in slight awe. "What have you brought me today, Sammy?" she'd asked. They'd been instant friends: the only two women in the world he gave a shit about.

Noelle had looked at him and though she'd been so lifeless and limp, her eyes had sparkled. She'd known, and she was no judge as to right and wrong, so she'd approved. He'd sat in the recliner in the corner of the hospice room – it had smelled like cleanser, but had been warm and the sun shone brightly through the lace curtains – and he'd listened to them talk; happy female chatter that was strange and new and somehow comforting.

Noelle had died without knowing they called her son "killer". But she'd probably guessed. She'd known he was his father's offspring and yet she'd raised him and loved him, had worked back-to-back double shifts so she could buy new blue jeans for him every school year, had lived in the tiniest of houses and had grown her own vegetables, had dressed in Wal-Mart clothes, all so she could afford him.

Happy didn't want his other girl, the one still alive, to make those same sacrifices for a bastard child whose father didn't love it. He didn't want her eyes to be sad even when she smiled. There were a lot of things in the world that sucked, and he accepted that, but her life, it should never suck.

He closed his eyes again, still feeling worn out and heavy with sleep, inhaled the familiar smell of her clean hair, and drifted off again.

**-O-**

When Ava woke, she took in the dusty outlines of outdated furniture, could smell the damp, earthy unpleasantness of mold growing in the AC unit. The carpet, drapes and comforter that was on a hasty heap in the floor were all various shades of orange that was probably more of a burnt sienna on the color wheel. This was the motel where Hap had lived for a little while. She'd come to him here. And he'd been drug back here after he'd let her father –

No, she wasn't going to dwell on things that made her unhappy. Wasn't going to go probing around for any concrete proof that he didn't love her. Because he did. In his own way.

His arm tightened around her now – he was awake – and she felt his knee pushing at the topmost part of her calf, his bare chest against her shoulders. When he held her in bed, it wasn't really holding, but laying possessive claim. She was his, and that was the simple truth he wanted her to still understand.

"I miss this," she murmured, not expecting a response.

She felt his other arm dig up under her side, between her and the mattress, and when he rolled onto his back, he pulled her with him, so her chest was against his, one of her legs between his, his body warm and hard under hers. He wasn't smiling, but he looked relaxed, had one arm bent at the elbow and propped under his head. She passed her thumb along the lettering at the base of his neck – his declaration of things to do for his 'family' – and then stroked the ink snake along its head. She loved his tats. She had a bad habit of getting caught up in them and forgetting where she was.

"So," she felt a grin tug at her lips. "When do we start not being 'attached'?"

"You ain't funny," he scolded, but there was no censure to his tone.

"No?" she dipped her head, tongue lowering, intent on licking the delicate little hollow at his throat.

"Ava."

Okay, no amount of flirtation could sway that voice. She sat up and pulled her legs beneath her, and to his credit, he met her gaze and didn't stare at her chest.

"Here's the thing," he said. "I need a home base. So I'm patchin' Redwood again. And you can come home on the weekends, but you're goin' back to school. Get that shit done, no more semesters off."

Ava was stunned. She blinked stupidly a few times and then took a deep breath. So this was what he'd been _not _telling her for weeks. If the Fed situation cleared up – which he'd obviously doubted – he wanted to come home. Her heart broke a little more for him, knowing what a good Nomad he was, knowing that he was finally relenting to the state of his leg. But she was relieved too, and exhaled just as deeply and in a shaky rush. Charming was quieter, safer, where Maggie could mother him and Tara could get him physical therapy without going through all the necessary channels. And because he'd said it in his usual, no room for argument voice, it took all the debating out of the situation. He really did want her to go to school and he'd said 'come home' because it _would_ be her home, here, in Charming, with him.

"And let's get somethin' straight about Juice. When he shows up, if I'm not there and I have to send him to watch out for you, that ain't got shit to do with our deal, or me kickin' off. He's the only one I know cares about you enough to watch you the way I would. That's about him bein' my brother and doin' me a favor and it ain't about me pushin' him on you. Clear?"

"Okay," she nodded, and then felt her throat start to close up. "Okay…okay, okay."

And she was so glad when he lifted an arm and she could lie down and pretend she wasn't about to cry.

**-O-**

_Mine._

Holly was not the kind of person who clung to things. She was always about the ebb and flow, but in the wee hours of the morning, she let that word fill up her brain and run in a constant loop. _Mine, mine, mine, mine…_Tig had said that's what she was. And that was, of all the things she'd been in her life, the very best.

She tried not to fixate on it, but it was damn hard. For the second night in a row, Tig went home with her. And for the second morning, she slipped out of bed before he did and was digging through the fridge, slightly panicked that there were no more eggs, when her cell phone rang. It was Gemma, and their presence was requested – which meant _demanded _– at the Morrows' house for dinner that night. And that she was supposed to meet Gemma at the market at noon to help her shop.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, feeling her pulse pick up. This could either be really good, or really bad.

"Do you have to work tonight?" Gemma asked.

"No, Mondays are my days off."

"Good."

There were so many little undercurrents to her voice; "good" could mean any number of things coming from Gemma. Holly released the breath she'd been holding when she hung up.

"Who was that?"Tig was in the doorway, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, but he'd showered and had his T-M shirt halfway buttoned up.

"Gemma. She wants me to go shopping with her."

His grin was wicked. "Good luck with that."

**-O-**

The Queen was waiting, as promised, leaned back against the rear cargo hatch of her Escalade at exactly noon. She was in boot cut jeans and high-heeled sandals, a fitted, brown long-sleeved tee that was elegant just because she was wearing it. Her hair was up in a clip, her bangs brushed to the side, and wasn't wearing jewelry save for a pair of diamond stud earrings. Still, she was an impressive, intimidating woman. She would have looked regal in a bath robe. Holly reflected on her own cutoffs and boots and didn't feel worthy.

"Afternoon," Gemma greeted, straightening away from her truck.

Holly had this brief flash of panic. Maybe this was all a ruse; get her somewhere in a public place where she could dress her down and then the Queen would go for the kill, telling her what she'd done to the sweetbutt was reckless. Holly wasn't a paranoid person, but Gemma had that effect on people.

"Hi," she greeted. She fell into step beside her as they went into the store.

The market was a small, cramped little place not much bigger than an average gas station. There was always at least one fluorescent tube light that sputtered and flickered. The aisles were narrow and organized poorly, there was a bit of a mysterious smell that was masked by fresh rotisserie chicken. But Holly had always thought it was homey and comfortable. Which wasn't much encouragement as she snagged an empty cart and followed Gemma.

Vegetables were first, and Gemma picked up every potato, carrot and zucchini and rolled it around in her hands, frowning, before she plucked another one off the pile and put it in a clear plastic bag. "You like squash?" she had a pretty yellow one held up for inspection. "No one ever seems to eat it."

"I like it, but I don't eat very much, so -,"

But Gemma had already plopped it in a bag and was twisting the top into a knot.

The same thing happened in front of the dairy section. "Vanilla, or plain yogurt for the parfait?"

"Vanilla is sweeter, it'll add a little something to the berries."

And so on and so on. Gemma chatted about town happenings and non-club related gossip. And she continued to ask Holly's opinion. And it wasn't until they were in the checkout line that Holly finally realized what was going on.

Gemma finished flipping through the latest tabloid mag and popped it back in its rack. Her expression was thoughtful when she turned toward Holly. "You know, every once in a while, you just got a hit a bitch in the head with something."

Holly wasn't sure whether to sigh with relief, or laugh, so she did neither, just nodded solemnly.

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

Agent Holt walked through the Charming PD precinct shuffling through the files that had been waiting for him with the clerk. None of it was of any use. It was obvious he couldn't pressure anyone in or associated with the Sons to turn rat. "Any word from James?" he asked one of his guys who had taken over a desk in the bullpen.

Agent Matthews shook his head in the negative. "No, sir. None yet."

_Fuck. _This was going on day three without any contact from Mickey, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that their second informant may have gone the way of Melinda. And yet again, they didn't have a scrap of a case. Without physical evidence, they were looking at disappearances and not murders. And unless there were any new developments, Holt knew he'd be pulled back to headquarters and the cases would get filed away as cold – no evidence meant no arrests.

"Agent Holt?" one of the local uniforms fell into step beside him as he headed for Chief Hale's office. "You have a package waiting."

He paused. "Package?"

"Yessir."

Being around these SOA creeps who apparently had the power to make people just up and vanish was making him slightly paranoid. A variety of scenarios ran through his head – one in which the "package" exploded – and he nudged the cracked door to the office open slowly.

There was a big glass serving platter on the blotter, loaded with a thick sandwich with lettuce curling up around the bun, tea-cup-saucer-sized cookies, what looked like pasta salad and a dill pickle wedge. It was covered with cling wrap and looked amazing. Right up until he read the note. It was signed, simply:

_The Girls_

Suddenly, Agent Stahl didn't seem so loony. He was feeling about halfway there himself.

**-O-**

Hale slammed the door of his Bronco and hitched up his gun belt as he started across the lot of T-M. Jax almost looked like he'd been expecting him; perched on a picnic table beneath the pavilion, smoking and talking to the Michaels kid. Hale remembered Carter – he'd been one hell of a QB, had taken a full-ride athletic scholarship to Colorado, and yet somehow he'd ended up a SAMCRO Prospect. This damn club just never stopped ruining people's lives.

Jax acknowledged him with a nod as he approached and sent Carter away. "Afternoon, Chief," he greeted. He hid a grin behind a smoke ring and Hale had to admire the showy Zen that surrounded him. He'd always had that way of being so infuriatingly self-assured in front of the law.

Hale came to a halt, thumbs in his belt. "Thought I'd let you know that Agent Holt has another two days to find something, and then he's getting reeled back in."

"Hmm."

"Seems he couldn't find any leads into Melinda Bartlett's disappearance."

Jax gave a little facial shrug, his smile becoming harder to contain. "It's a big, bad world out there. Not safe for women to be out by themselves."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing." Hale had to hand it to these assholes – they covered their tracks, had access to law enforcement intel…white trash thugs that they might have been, they were untouchable nine times out of ten. If he hadn't been on the other side of the law, he might have admired them. But that was a big _might._

"Hey," Jax called as he was turning away. Hale pivoted around to face him again. The biker looked amused and a little curious. "This whole thing…you could almost say you helped us out."

Hale smirked. "Oh, I'm still gonna bring you guys down. But when it happens, I won't need RICO and confessions from your women."

**-O-**

"Biker fantasies?" Tara nearly choked on the words as she swallowed a laugh.

Ava paused, salad tongs limp in her hands, and glanced up to where Lyla stood at the kitchen's center island slicing a cucumber – the action somehow ironic considering her "trade" talk.

"Biker fantasies," the porn producer repeated. "One of the moms in Piper's carpool group keeps _looking _at Ope – it's kinda creepy – but it got me thinking. There's all these women -,"

"Delusional women," Gemma interjected.

Lyla nodded. " – who think bikers are hot and dangerous. So I thought why not market movies toward bored women looking for a good fantasy? That's all porn is anyway. We've got all kinds – housewives, lawyers, _doctors_ -,"

Tara had another choking moment.

"Hooking up with hot, bad-boy bikers. We're anticipating big internet sales with this series."

Ava was chuckling as she started tossing the salad together again. Lyla didn't look phased, though, as she walked over and set the cucumber slices around the edges of the big wooden bowl. "You'd watch it, wouldn't you?" she asked.

"For curiosity's sake," Ava tried to school her features.

"Question," Maggie said ", does this fantasy include the biker coming home, leaving his smelly-ass boots and socks in the middle of the living room floor and calling his mother-in-law 'sugar'?"

"And this doctor," Tara looked caught between a laughing fit and a coronary. "She wouldn't happen to -,"

"Have flawless brunette hair?" Lyla smiled and though it was evil, it came out looking sweet as it broke across her face. "Absolutely."

"Christ," Tara muttered. "The bad part is, Jax is going to love this."

"What about you?" Lyla glanced over at Ava. "College student-biker-dorm-hookup?"

"Um…_no_."

Lyla shrugged and picked up the salad bowl, taking it to the buffet in the dining room.

Holly had listened to the conversation without comment, and now had a small, almost private smile as she refilled the salt and pepper shakers. She'd been in Gemma's kitchen when Ava arrived: cooking and chopping and stirring. She was a busy little worker bee, that one. And as they all worked, and Holly was notably not a part of the happy chatter, Ava became more and more aware that the two of them needed to have a chat. Now, she did a quick check of the clock and saw that the roast had another few minutes to go. She wiped the olive oil off her hands with a towel and then navigated through the crowded kitchen.

"Hey, Holly?" Tig's girl looked up. "Can I talk to you for a sec."

**-O-**

For as much as she and Tig seemed to dislike one another, Holly had found a similarity between her man and Ava. Maybe it was just when they were speaking to her, but both of them – with the exception of Ava's vodka-induced rant about Happy – seemed to very carefully select their words before they spoke. She could imagine a little pair of delicate claws pulling bits of vocabulary from their mental indexes.

They were sitting on Gemma's patio, light running like liquid gold from the windows behind them and pooling around their feet. Ava had her hands on her thighs and stared out into the night, chewing at her lip, little claws tickling around in her head, obviously. Holly waited because she was good at waiting.

"I know I thanked you," Ava finally started, her voice stilted. "But I wanted to thank you again. For real this time."

"A 'thank you' is a 'thank you'," Holly offered. "You don't have to say it twice."

Ava turned to face her, brows pulled together. She looked like she'd never anticipated this moment or this conversation. "It's not just about the chair, though. I appreciate that – you have no idea – but it's the other things too. I never should have bared my soul that night over at your place…but you said exactly the right thing."

Holly felt a warm little spot of gratitude bloom inside her. Like earlier, at the store with Gemma, she was relieved to the point of absolute happiness. During this ordeal, she'd been waiting for one of the women to take her aside, lean in her face and threaten her so stealthily, so coyly that it somehow came off sounding like a dinner invite that nonetheless left her quaking in terror. So when she said ", thank _you_," it was sincere, even though it seemed to surprise Ava.

"Really?"

"I know you're not crazy about Tig. And I know you have no reason to welcome an outsider…so thanks for not hating me."

Ava twitched a grin. "Thanks for assaulting a whore for me."

"Thanks for going armadillo hunting with me."

Ava was the one who started laughing, just a little snort, but soon they both had tears in their eyes and couldn't catch their breath. "You know," Ava said when she could, still chuckling. "We both have seriously fucked-up love lives."

Holly nodded. "We really do."

"It doesn't feel fucked up, though, does it?"

"No."

Ava took a deep breath and seemed to relax on the exhale, her laughter dying down to nothing. "When I go back to school in January, Happy's not coming with me."

"Oh, Ava -,"

"No, it's okay. We're not splitting up. He just wants some space, wants to stay here in Charming. Which I really can't blame him for." She tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced over. "It just stings, ya know?"

Holly nodded. She did know. The nights that Tig didn't stop by, didn't call, that she didn't run into him somewhere, felt empty and aimless. Right or wrong, whether it was something Gemma approved of or not, there was no changing that little bit of clinging desperation.

And then Ava did the most shocking thing possible – she hugged her. Holly was too caught off guard at first to return the embrace, but then she wrapped her arms around the girl's narrow shoulders.

"I hope Tig hangs onto you," Ava said. "It'd be the smartest thing he's ever done."

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: **This story is winding toward a close – I had some formulating ideas about where to go from here, but I think most are sick of Ava and Happy's tribulations so I'm going to focus on my other story. I was inspired by some of the comments from last chapter, so I hope you guys don't mind me spinning off your reviews!

…

Holly had never been to Caracara, but after having walked through the warehouse where the shooting was taking place on her way to Lyla's office, she wasn't sure it was a place she'd be visiting again anytime soon. Tara had walked ahead of her, executing a shaking head/eye roll/deep sigh maneuver that wasn't just a show, but really did prove how above porn the doctor was. And Ava had seemed completely relaxed, not at all worried about the baby oiled foursome writhing on a bed in front of a camera mere feet away. Holly was indifferent to sex – this kind of sex – it wasn't too dissimilar from post church parties at the clubhouse. In the past, she'd carried this nugget of guilt around in her pocket, assuming she was jaded and unhealthy, but now was relieved in a way she hadn't thought possible to be around women who, though they hadn't shared her past, were just as blasé about the scenes around them now. For the first time in her life, she wasn't the freak in the room.

Still…this wasn't an environment she was fond of.

Lyla was behind her desk, shoes kicked off and bare feet tucked up beneath her slender backside on the chair. She had a desktop and a laptop in front of her and the red message light blinked on the cordless phone. She was busy. But she swiveled toward the door when they entered and smiled that quiet, almost-smile of hers. "Hi, girls."

"Hey," Tara sat down on the black suede loveseat beneath the picture window that separated the office from the warehouse. Ava claimed the purple wingback chair, so Holly sat with the doctor.

"You've beefed up security," Ava said, jerking a thumb toward the door. "The meatheads out front tried to send us around back to the talent entrance."

"Take it as a compliment," Lyla shrugged. She stood, cracked her neck and went around the office closing the mini blinds in the windows. "I haven't shown these reels to anyone else. You guys are my first audience aside from the editors."

"_Such _an honor," Tara said, but chuckled.

"Glad you think so," Lyla played coy, reclaiming her desk and turning to the flat screen TV set above the converted buffet table that served as an entertainment center. She popped a DVD into the player and shot them all a grin. "I thought we'd start with the doctor bit."

Tara groaned.

Holly sat quietly and listened to them banter back and forth as the screen came to life with a scene of a curvaceous brunette doctor, who looked like her tits might come busting out of her scrub top, reading a chart and straightening a pair of fashionable glasses on her nose.

She hadn't anticipated this girl's afternoon. Ava had mentioned that she and Tara were invited to go check out the unreleased biker fantasies series Lyla was producing, and though surprised by the invite, she'd been even more surprised by Tig's insistence that she attend when she'd mentioned it to him.

"_Go."_

_Holly propped her hand beneath her head on the pillow and frowned. "But I didn't even tell you -,"_

"_Don't matter," Tig interrupted again. He was catching his breath, arms propped under his head as he stared at the dark ceiling blotted with even darker water stains. She'd come to realize that the best time to ask him things was immediately following an orgasm. "So long as you ain't robbing a bank, I don't much care what you do. You'll be fine with them."_

_In a matter of days, he'd gone from forbidding her to spend time with the women, to encouraging it. "I don't have to go if you don't want me to," she ventured, already cringing at the response she knew was to follow._

"_Jesus! I said it was fine, didn't I?" _

"_Yes you did."_

On screen, a wounded blonde actor in biker garb was limping down the hallway of a fake hospital, and Dr. Big Tits was intercepting him. Tara was shaking her head and chewing on a fingernail, blushing furiously.

"You're terrible," she told Lyla. "I mean, really, truly, off-my-Christmas-list terrible."

Ava laughed in little fits she tried to stifle with her hands. "Oh, let me check your injuries," she mimicked and then started giggling again.

Holly smiled, amused and content just to be in their company. Somehow, bashing a girl's head in with a chair had improved her status in so many ways.

As the fake doctor and biker started going at in on a hospital bed, Holly thought about the time in her life when she'd been willing to have that kind of impersonal encounter with a stranger. She remembered the dim lights of the Lodi bar, the sneers and wicked smiles. Remembered the feel of her car against her back while a man thrust and grunted against her. It had always been a means to an end, a hope, a desperate, fruitless plea for some dark stranger to come into her life and change it for the better. In the end, it hadn't been a gentle touch that had brought her courage. It had been Tig's ferocity that had showed her the difference between being owned and being held hostage…owned was so much better. Being owned was being so enthralled by madness that you didn't want to escape – and that was being with Tig, being at his physical mercy and enjoying it. Needing it.

As the movie came to its raging climax – literally – Holly cocked her head to the side and wondered how anyone could get so caught up in a fantasy.

**-O-**

"How'd you know?"

Across her black-lacquered , twelve person dining room table, Gemma picked up a stray peanut that had escaped her cockatoo's bowl and put it back, reaching for her coffee mug again. "Holly?" she asked, dark eyes flipping up to meet her cousin's again.

Maggie nodded. They'd been circling around the issue of Tig's girl for the past few minutes, but she'd grown tired of wondering. She understood a great deal about the inner workings of the once and always Queen's head, but not all of them. And Holly was still a bit of a mystery.

"Well," she pursed her lips thoughtfully ", before the situation with the Feds – the last time, not this time – I was running off gut instinct." She smirked. "But you know how that's rarely wrong."

"Oh so rarely."

"It's cause of Tig. Don't get me wrong – he's one of my boys – but women don't _love _Tig. Tig is not loveable."

Maggie conceded with a tilt of her head.

"If it were Juice, Ope…Jax, I could've believed it was an act. But you can't fake it with Tig. No way any girl would hang around that long and be his good little puppy dog if it wasn't genuine."

"True," Maggie sighed ", I guess I didn't – still don't – understand how she could feel so strongly about him."

"To be fair, you've never been objective about Tig, honey," Gemma hid a small smile behind a sip of coffee. "And the way I see it, Holly gives him roots, keeps him in Charming where we need him. Maybe he won't go running off on some Nomad crusade with Happy if he feels tied down here."

Maggie stared down into her mug – somehow her life of excitement and scandal had slowly morphed into one of coffee and kitchen chats with Gemma. They were the older, wiser Old Ladies now, the mothers of children now just as involved in the club as they were. She wasn't _old_, though she was feeling less and less in control of her loved ones, more like her own aging mother who watched helplessly from the sidelines. "Hap's patching Redwood again," she said, catching a bead of coffee that was running down the side of the mug with her thumb. "Or so he says."

"Whatever else he is, that boy isn't a liar," Gemma said lightly, rising from her chair. "Refill?" she asked, boot heels clicking across the floor and into the kitchen. When she returned, coffee pot in hand, Maggie still hadn't looked up from the depths of her mug. "Mags," she prodded. "What?"

"You remember," she suddenly felt very tired ", how you warned me two years ago about Hap and Ava?"

Gemma didn't move.

"I think my daughter may have doomed herself to a life of unhappiness. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

**-O-**

Ava had missed their alone time. She really did cherish all her moments with Happy, sexual or otherwise. She'd known him so long that he was an essential component of the fabric of her life. Like her mother, he was one of her can't-live-without people. Not someone she'd met as an adult and had quartered off in his own little corner in her heart. He was vital to her, at least he felt that way, and that's what he'd been getting at with her going back to school and him staying in Charming. All his talk of not being so attached. And she could respect him. She could force some distance between them and try to be more adult about it all…whatever the hell that meant. She was pretty sure Maggie throwing fistfuls of flour out of her mixing bowl at Chibs had nothing to do with being an adult.

It was a dead night at the clubhouse and there was a special about stupid criminals on TV. Ava lay against Hap's side on one of the plaid sofas, her head resting against his shoulder, his arm draped loosely down her side. They'd had some of Bobby's banana bread for dinner, the paper plates and empty beer bottles on the table in front of them. Her eyelids were starting to flutter, everything but the warm, familiar and comforting sensation of his body beside her fading into her periphery, when his hand moved on her hip. She stirred, and glanced down as she watched him reach between her slightly parted legs and stroke the mid-seam of her jeans. She still wore the ring he'd given her, so he had a new one, an ornate reaper, on the ring finger of his left hand. It glinted in the dim light as he rubbed her. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy in which it was a wedding band, and then passed a hand across his chest.

"Mmm," she murmured in approval of his touch.

He had turned his head so that his chin rested on top of her head – she could feel the soft rustle of his breath in her hair. "What," he said, no hint of a question to his voice. It was a prod, a way to get her to tell him what she felt, what she wanted – though his compliance was totally optional. It was part of the game of concession, even though in the end, he would be the one holding onto mere shreds of self control.

_Fantasy_. The word cycled through her head again. Her fantasy didn't involve having her perfectly pressed, designer pencil skirt torn from her body, being shoved back across a desk where, just before she climaxed with an overdramatic scream of ecstasy, she caught the glint of her name in a golden plate preceded by the title _esquire. _Popping buttons, leather belts, bottles of whiskey, fancy titles and dirty secrets had no place in her dream world. In the private, fluffy cloud palace deep in her mind where real fantasies lived.

Her fantasies were things like gold bands on fingers. Sweaty pitchers of tea with lemon slices bobbing along inside, the condensation staining a white tablecloth. The sound of children laughing. Eyes the same color as the chocolate between both halves of a Milano cookie. The creak of wooden porch planks. The smell of gardenias. Clean laundry and crayon pictures on a refrigerator. Safety. Calm. Pillow talk and raucous dinner conversation. Smiles filled with impossibly white teeth. Dirty shoes by the back door. Warm skin and worn cotton between the sheets with her, a body, a person, a partner…a husband.

The women Lyla was marketing her porn toward were so bored and unruffled by the mundane little things that Ava had aching dreams about. People craved excitement because they didn't understand true terror. And they shunned routine because they had no idea how precious it could be to someone else.

She felt the fingers of his other hand curl into her hair, gripping tight up at the roots as he tipped her head back. The soft blush of lamplight did nothing to soften his face. He didn't smile when he wanted her; his cheeks got rigid and a vein in his temple protruded. It was akin to the expression he wore into the ring at after-club boxing matches, or when he was sliding his flak vest beneath a plain black sweatshirt, heading off somewhere without his colors. His eyes were different, though, large and dark and deep and not closed off the way they became when aggression was roaring through his veins. It was a look that somewhere, on a basic level, should have frightened her in its intensity, but it didn't. She was the child raised by wolves that way. She'd seen the bored, unimpressed glance he turned on club girls…and this wasn't it. Whatever his eyes had said when he'd snagged that crow eater informant, they hadn't said this.

And that was the only way she was able to reconcile the fact that there had been a crow eater informant at all.

The hand between her legs moved upward, and his fingers were sliding beneath the waistband of her jeans when the clubhouse door opened. Hap released her, but didn't move, letting Ava settle against him now so that whoever was coming into the room would have no idea what they'd been about to interrupt.

The intruder was Juice, and oblivious as always, he grabbed a beer from the cooler and joined them in front of the TV, sitting in the plaid, upholstered recliner that was a monstrosity of a counterpart to the sofa. "What're we watching?" he asked, pulling the footrest lever on the chair.

Ava wanted to laugh at his innocent, dense assumption that he wasn't overstepping boundaries – that it was cool if he sat down with them. Which, really, it was. Ava liked Juice, more than was required by his status as a Son. And even though her feelings for Happy had always been unwavering, she could have, she did – or had – well, she wasn't going to put a label on the way Juice fit into her life. He was there. A solid fixture. She didn't like to ponder on the what-ifs, but she had more respect for him after hearing Hap say that he had unwavering trust in Juice's ability to care and watch out for her. She would have assumed that Hap's contingency plan – the man who inherited her – would have been more like Hap. But Juice couldn't have been more dissimilar. They weren't even close friends. Happy wasn't setting her up as a debt to pay to someone, doing a favor for a bud, or just looking for muscle to keep her safe; he'd put so much thought into the selection that it was very touching, in a morbid way. But it made her feel safe and loved.

"_Break-ins Caught on Tape_," she answered.

"Oh, sweet! I love stupid criminals."

"You better," Hap's voice seemed extra deep and rusty, like he was tired ", seein' as how you _are _one."

"I…" Juice paused, index finger raised in protest, brows pulled together. "Oh…yeah." He sighed as he realized that Hap's statement was a true one.

Ava chuckled and felt Happy's laugh reverberate through his chest. It was nice to hear him laugh: he did it so rarely that it always surprised her a bit.

They watched in silence for a moment, all the sexually charged energy having vanished the moment Juice entered the room, before Juice said ", hey. I got a call tonight. Koz says 'hi'."

"Yeah?" Hap said.

"Yeah."

Ava lifted her head away from Happy's side and glanced at each of them in turn. Both had their eyes glued to the TV, faces unreadable. But she knew, she'd been around them and the club too long not to, that some secret message had just passed between them. She reclined again at Hap's urging, but when Juice reached to rub a hand across his mohawk, his nervous little tic, she was certain.

"_I tell you too much."_

Hap's words came back to her and she exhaled a deep breath, forcing herself to relax again. Whatever the secret, they'd handled it, and it was none of her business.

**-O-**

"Christ, James! It's been three days! Where the fuck've you been?"

Mickey James had been running for three days now, living off beef jerky and sleeping in the backseat of his car when he dared close his eyes long enough to combat the all-encompassing fatigue that clung to him like smoke.

They'd found him.

Melinda had never been a smart bitch: she liked to brag about her conquests like a man, about her accomplishments – how much money she'd snagged off a john in a motel room, how much she could snort at once, how many shots she could hold. Back in Utah, he'd seen her escorted across the precinct by agents, her platform pumps clomping loud as combat boots on the tile floor, cracking her gum and fluffing at her teased hair, and he'd known she would be the all-mighty fuckup that sent his sweet deal down the shitter. All she had to do was listen – keep her damn mouth shut and her ears open and listen to what the Sons who were fucking her said to each other. But she couldn't even do that. And now she was rotting somewhere in a desert, he was just sure of that fact, because when he'd arrived at the safe house to meet up with his protective detail, he'd seen a Harley parked down the street.

Because they'd found him. That retarded motherfucker with the goofy hair hadn't been talking shit when he'd said he could find any man in the United States so long as he had a lead. And he'd had one, and he'd found him. The Sons all along the west coast doubtless knew his real name now, and had wanted posters up on clubhouse bulletin boards. Mickey's death certificate had been signed, now it was just a matter of slapping a date on it.

"The safe house wasn't safe," he sighed into the receiver of the motel phone he'd used to contact the ATF and get patched through to Agent Holt. "Saw a bike down and street and knew it was them. I've been trying to ditch them just so I could call you."

"Shit," Holt sighed. Mickey envisioned the man running a beefy hand back through his hair. "Tell me you at least have something we can use."

"I do."

"I'm sending a car. Don't fuckin, move, James, and we'll discuss this in person. This isn't a secure line."

Mickey agreed and hung up feeling marginally less tense. His three days in hell were about to come to an end and then he'd be in Canada or Alaska or some shit; some place where the Sons couldn't find him. He hadn't detected a tail, had seen nothing suspicious since that Harley at his rendezvous point…but uneasiness plagued him still.

The night before, he'd spent two hours changing a flat after he'd rolled through the debris left over from an accident – glass and warped bits of metal. It had been drizzling, the air cool, the dampness creeping in through the collar of his jacket and leaving him clammy and frantic, wet fingers slipping on the rusted lug nuts of the old Ford, terrified that the flat had been some sort of trap. Every engine that whined past him on the shoulder, every set of headlights had ignited a new panic inside him. And when he'd finally flopped back behind the wheel, he'd been filthy and shaking with burnt out adrenaline. A greasy dinner of hash browns and a patty melt at Waffle House hadn't eased the churning in his gut. He hadn't had enough change to buy a bottle of Rolaids.

He'd refrained from using his credit card since that first stop for gas for fear that the Charming hacker could find him again. But today, with help just hours away and his body running on fumes, he'd broken down and booked a second floor room in this shitty motel.

He crossed to the door and checked the lock again, rattled the chain. Then he ejected the clip of his Glock and counted the rounds just like he had every few hours since leaving Charming. The paranoia was beginning to be unbearable. He had to force himself to deposit the gun on the nightstand. Then he figured he might as well clean up a bit rather than stew in his own nerves for the next two hours while he waited for the car.

He'd let his beard grow out and had been wearing a trucker cap – a ring now pressed in his hair from the hat band. He hadn't showered in days and had thick, black dirt gummed up under his fingernails.

Finding solace in the process, he gave himself a manicure with a toothpick and his teeth, shaved, freshened his breath with a swallow of whiskey from the flask he kept with his things. In the shower, scrubbing the grime from his hair, he was overtaken by a giddy excitement.

All of the Sons had been imprisoned individually at some point, and the club had no doubt suffered economic losses, but it was still in operation. No federal organization had managed to disband the club completely. He wasn't fooled into thinking that was about to happen now, but murder charges would be a good start – could lead to viable RICO charges. And best of all, his old life would disappear. No more dirty-cop-rap for Mickey James. He'd be some other guy with some other past and he could start over in some other town. The prospect of it all was thrilling.

He was whistling by the time he shut off the water. He wrapped the towel snugly around his waist and went back out into the room in search of fresh clothes – he had one spare outfit in his knapsack.

The first thing he noticed was the chain on the door. The door was shut, but the chain had been clipped neatly in half and dangled in two pieces on either side of the door jamb. Bolt cutters: had to be.

What happened next wasn't surprising. The moment he heard the rustling of cloth, the squeak of mattress springs as someone leapt across the bed, something hard touched the back of his head. It was small and cool and round.

"Don't even breathe," the voice behind him ordered. Kozik. Of course. He could picture the blonde and his perfectly gelled hair behind him. The gun pressed harder against the nape of his neck. "How ya doin', Mick?"

He'd heard before that knowing you were about to die brought an overwhelming wave of calm crashed down over a person. That you resolved yourself, said your prayers, and took it like a man.

That was not happening. His body flushed hot and then cold, goose flesh pebbling his naked skin. _No, no, no, no, no _he thought. This couldn't be it. It really couldn't. He didn't want it, he really didn't. Terror seized him, until his teeth chattered and his bladder felt suddenly too full. His hurried, frantic prayers all revolved around ways in which he wanted the Sons to suffer.

"Come on," Kozik nudged him forward. "Let's take a walk."

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: **I'll leave it up to you guys. This chapter leaves off in a way that could serve as the end. But I can keep going – add new chapters as I think of them. I guess it all depends upon the feedback I get here. Thanks, guys.

…

The milky morning light was further diluted by the film of steam on the inside of the window panes. The heat thrummed through the vents of the house, the furnace in the crawl space rumbling and coughing, doing its pitiful best to keep the temperature above the forty-five degrees it was outdoors. Tig pushed the blue down comforter that Holly loved so much to his waist, again too hot under the ridiculously warm blanket. They didn't live in fucking Alaska. Why the hell did she need all natural goose down in "daylight blue"? That's what the catalogue had called it – "daylight blue". And that color had been on backorder, so he'd had to wait an extra two weeks for it to arrive. He hadn't wrapped it, he'd just left it in its brown, cardboard shipping box, packing peanuts and all, and had written Holly's name on it with Sharpie. No "Merry Christmas", no "To" or "From". But she'd smiled like he'd been on one knee with a ring in his hand when she'd spread the quilted comforter across her lap and caressed the plush, microfiber exterior of the thing.

That hadn't been a brilliant idea – getting her a Christmas present. He knew she wasn't the type to ask for things, if he forgot every other holiday from now on, she'd never mention it. Still...his mood soured when he realized the permanence with which he now thought about her. _Every other holiday _as if she'd be around for every other holiday. As if she'd stay here in this house, accepting his scraps of occasional kindness, a constant piece of his life.

He turned his head on the pillow and watched her eyes twitch beneath her closed lids. She had the comforter she loved so much snugged up under her chin, breathing in the small, shallow pattern that didn't seem like it could possibly provide her body with enough oxygen, but that he'd come to know.

More and more nights over the past few months, he'd come back to the house to sleep. He'd watched her thrive on it: making him coffee and breakfast, doing his laundry, sewing buttons back on his shirts. Every so often he'd notice something new in the house. A blue glass lamp. A little trio of candles on the coffee table. A new rug in the bathroom. She was a nester – she liked having a little nest all her own and filling it with things she thought were pretty. She was the calmest woman he'd ever been around – like a pond in winter – not frozen, just still, the dark, wriggling things in the depths kept from breaching the surface by the cool stillness she needed in order to make it through each day. Quiet was her coping method. Kindness and peace chased away her nightmares and trauma.

Sometimes, she was _so _calm, so helpful, so at the ready with everything he needed, he wanted to wring her little neck. But he didn't. For some reason, he just didn't. Nights when he couldn't stand her, he stayed at the clubhouse, found sweetbutts to fuck. And Holly, with even more of the infuriating calm, knew that he needed that time away and never questioned, never scolded. And that was how her cursed tranquility kept him coming back. Tig loved Gemma, but he could never handle someone so involved, so meddlesome breathing down his neck all the time. He didn't need an equal. He didn't need anyone, really. But, sometimes, on cool mornings, when she slept like some small, smooth-skinned woodland creature, unobtrusive and quiet beside him, he knew that he didn't mind having _her_, whatever she was.

When he peeled the comforter down her body, she shivered. The bed springs groaned as he moved over top of her. And Holly's eyes flipped open wide, lids vanishing, as her hands found his arms and she sucked in a quick, anxious breath.

Tig didn't reassure her, but he paused a moment, just a heartbeat, until her eyes lost the shocked, vacant look of dread they always held when she was startled awake. He knew, without her telling him, what her instincts told her when she was roused like this. But like always, her eyes skipped over his face and her hands loosened on his arm, uncurling from the claws they'd been so that her relaxed, open palms could travel up his arms to his shoulders. Tig knew he didn't have to wait like this – she wouldn't struggle if he didn't because, once, he hadn't waited. But he didn't think he'd do that again. The brutality of the act hadn't bothered him, but the way she'd flinched away from him for days afterward had. And yelling at her and telling her to straighten her ass out hadn't helped – it just put tears in her eyes and made her even more jumpy.

So this morning he waited, and sure enough, she threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his head and lifted her shoulders off the mattress to meet his descending mouth with her own. When he waited, she turned out to be just as hungry as he was. And despite what he wanted elsewhere, with her, this was the way it was supposed to be.

**-O-**

Ava squirmed under him. Not because she wanted loose – hardly – her wrists were obediently still inside his hand where he pinned them to the mattress. But he knew she wanted even more; murmured her approval as he sucked the delicate skin over her ribs, but wanted his mouth elsewhere and everywhere all at once. Happy grinned as he bared his teeth and ran them along one rib bone, felt her hips undulate beneath him.

It had been three whole weeks since they'd had their hands on one another. As her school schedule became more hectic, it was harder and harder for her to come home for the weekends. Hap stood steadfast by this decision that this was the best thing. She was safe at school and he wasn't worried about her. He had to be the adult here, because he was, had to insist that she go to school so she had the skills to take of herself should she ever need to.

Early morning sun sluiced through the bare, unadorned windows on either side of the bed and turned her skin to rich cream. Last night, in the glow of incandescent bulbs, she'd been ethereal. Fairy-like. This morning, she was pure. Untouched. What he did to her body, what she in turn did to his, was never going to taint her in his eyes. He should have known, he shouldn't have worried about altering who or what she was – she'd always be the girl who took in every, dark and frightening little part of him and loved him in spite of the shadows.

He slid his palm down the smooth underbellies of her arms, and she kept her hands where they were, lifting her hips as his mouth moved across her stomach. His tongue dipped into her navel. And then he moved up instead of down, hands braced on the mattress, nipping at the undersides of her tits.

"You're wicked," she sighed, one of her hands finally daring to break the spell he'd put them under so she could lay it along the side of his face, encouraging him closer.

"Mornin'." It was the first word he'd said to her since waking to find her asleep with the covers around her waist. He traced the fragile ridge of her clavicle with the tip of his tongue. Up her throat where his teeth again tested the strength of her skin.

He felt her nails leave crescent-shaped marks in his neck. Her other hand stroked down his side, around his ribs, nails teasing at his hip, and when he sucked her earlobe into his mouth, she started clawing at the covers that still separated them. He reached down to do it for her, smiling again, as she turned her head to search for him. He didn't kiss her. She spread her legs wide, her touch frenzied as she ran her hand down his belly and then took him in her hand. Hap kept his face over hers, their lips millimeters apart, but not touching, as she guided them together. The pace was the steady, deep, hard rocking that she loved, that had her legs clamped tight around his waist, her head pressed back into the pillow.

Whether she heard it anymore or not, he told her all the time what she was to him.

**-O-**

Happy's apartment was an empty shell: one chair, one tattered sofa that made the clubhouse furniture look like Ethan Allen's finest. There were no curtains or blinds on the windows. Granted, he'd only been in the place for a couple of weeks, but he seemed to have overlooked some of the finer points of apartment dwelling. Say, for instance, cooking utensils, Ava realized as she poked around the galley kitchen in search of breakfast.

She wanted to make her man coffee, but he had neither a pot nor grounds. She found a skillet, a saucepan, a couple of spoons and spatulas, and an assortment of mismatched plates in one cabinet. The rest were empty. One of the drawers was full of boxes of ammo and WD-40. She shook her head and sighed. Her apartment in Sacramento was homey, comfortable and the drawers were full of silverware. And here he wanted to live in –

She halted the thought before it could turn sour. This was about the long-term and not her immediate wants. Still glowing from that morning, she had no room to complain.

The thump of the pipes underfoot signaled that he was awake, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Hap propped his right shoulder against the doorjamb, arms folded over his bare chest, making the way he put virtually no weight on his bad leg look casual. She knew how much it pained him though; could read the taut line of his jaw, see the angry twitch of his quadricep that was just a ghostly flutter at the hem of his boxers because the rest of his leg worked so hard to protect the wounded knee. His body would fall apart trying before it regaled itself to crutches or braces or any other sort of supportive device. And that was him, wasn't it? His club, his poor dead mother, _her_: he was not a man who gave things up easily, even when she told herself that his new required distance meant that he didn't love her.

"I was going to make you breakfast -,"

"_Burn_ me breakfast?"

" – but you don't have any…" she frowned. "I'm doing better."

She had come to a point where she counted his smiles. This was his second – the first having been accompanied by his rumbled "mornin'" across her skin. That one had been sly, this one was humored – wider, teeth somehow still white despite the smoking habit. She had a suspicion perfect teeth had been a part of his deal with the devil.

There was a fresh carton of eggs in the fridge, and somehow in the process of setting them on the counter and firing up the skillet on the cooktop, Happy had become the one cracking the brown eggs and expertly slipping them down into the pan, not losing one fragment of shell. Ava watched, a bit stunned and a little hurt as he washed his hands, found a fork in a drawer she hadn't thought to look in, and scrambled six eggs like it was just as ordinary as cleaning a gun or whetting a knife. He watched the tines scissor through the bright yellow yolks with lazy interest: he could do this in his sleep.

"Hap?"

"Hmm?" He added salt and pepper. A dash of cayenne from a box he'd spirited out of thin air it seemed.

"I really was going to cook for you."

He motioned toward the stretch of counter that appeared to be serving as his pantry. "Make toast. I think we got butter."

Slightly encouraged by the use of "we", though still irked that she hadn't been allowed to be the woman of the house, she found the loaf of bread among the soup cans and pulled out four slices. "Do you have a toaster?"

With grin number three of the morning, he turned on another of the gas burners and produced a barbecue fork.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"You like bonfires, right? Pretend it's marshmallows."

They cooked – if you could call it that – in relatively comfortable silence. Ava could only imagine what Gemma, her mother, or even Tara would say if they saw her in one of Hap's shirts cooking toast over a stove eye while Hap added salt, pepper and a dash of cayenne. She'd been thinking all week he'd be glad for her to come in and pamper him for a few days, but here they were working together.

"Why…" she took a deep breath and plunged over the line of propriety ", do you seem so hell bent on keeping me from acting like the Old Lady I should be?"

"Hand me a plate." He didn't miss a beat as he accepted the one she offered and lifted the skillet off the eye, egg-smelling steam filling the air.

"Because if this is some learn-it-the-hard-way lesson, then I'm just stupid, 'cause it's not sinking in."

Happy turned off the burner and put the skillet in the sink. His facial expression remained impassive, the cords in his arms invisible under his inked skin – he showed no signs of stress. He grabbed two clean forks from the drawer and headed for the designated living room area. "Soda in the fridge," he obviously meant it to replace coffee.

Ava spoke over her shoulder as she pulled two Mountain Dews from their plastic rings, growing more frustrated by the second. "I won't have any respect among the other women," she started to feel a little desperate too ", if I'm not allowed to -,"

"Sit down 'fore the eggs get cold," he didn't raise his voice, just indicated the seat beside him on the sofa with the extra fork he'd brought along.

_Unbelievable, _she thought darkly. Here she had just one weekend, three days with him, and he'd dashed their amazing morning against the rocks with his DIY petulance yet again. How many times were they going to cover the same territory? Was this the argument that never ended? Like that damn "Small World" song at Disneyland?

When she attempted to take the fork from Hap, he held it fast. "Lemme ask you a question," he said, and when she met his gaze, she found it unexpectedly friendly. It lacked all the darkness it had possessed before Spring semester had begun. He seemed calm, curious maybe.

As always, she could never refuse him. She plunked down beside him, soda cans cold in her lap. Ava nodded.

"Why're _you _so hell bent on_ bein'_ an Old Lady?"

So floored by the question, she could only blink a moment, jaw slack. Disappointment, shock, hurt and a dozen other emotions tumbled over one another in their haste to be put into words. But still she sat, tongue-tied, studying his face and marveling at the amused expression he was giving her.

"Do you remember the night I came to get you?" he asked.

Ava knew, almost before the question had left his mouth, exactly which night he wanted her to recall. So much of her life was flavored with him: memories melting into warm, though vague sensations, an understanding of who he was to her blended with occasional concrete snatches, fits of déjà vu that were tied to sights, smells, colors and emotions. But there were a few sterling, crystal, perfectly preserved moments that had been tucked away in her memory bank. Treasured occurrences that she could pull out and replay at any moment like old home movies. Hap wouldn't rehash the details of _the night I came to get you_, but she didn't need him to.

"You remember what I told you?"

"_I don't like the sound of 'Old Lady'…but you're my girl. And I love you. So I guess that's gonna have to do for now."_

She nodded, felt some of the tension leave her body, filled up with hopeful curiosity instead.

"I don't say shit I don't mean. And I don't change my mind about shit like that. You know that better than anybody."

"I do…" her sigh caught in her throat as she diagramed the sentence in her head. Hap was giving her a probing look, still not stressed despite the rehashing of this same old conversation. Maybe their separation was giving him a new depth of patience. Maybe…

_I don't like the sound of "Old Lady"._

And then she understood what he'd been trying to tell her for months. "Oh, Hap," this time she did sigh, propping an arm against the back of the sofa. "You really," she could barely bring herself to say it ", don't think about me like that, do you?"

"Like what?" he shoveled a huge bite into his mouth and then offered the plate to her.

She waved it away, not hungry anymore. "Like your Old Lady."

He scowled, but it was a thoughtful scowl. "Ol' Lady is a title. It's what you have to be so my brothers recognize and respect you. It's what gives you rights, makes you somebody in this club."

"What do _you_ want me to be then?" she asked in a voice that felt small.

"I don't want you to be anythin'. I just want you. I like what we've always had."

"But," she growled in frustration ", what 'we've always had'…it's not…not right!"

His scowl deepened, brows pulling down low over his hooded, black eyes. "Who gives a fuck about right? Right don't mean a goddamn thing."

And it probably didn't. Ava sighed. No, she _knew _it didn't. He was a man who did unspeakable things in the name of the club they both called home. And she'd been only seventeen when she'd finally gotten him into her bed. Nothing about the two of them, what they had, was right. Not in the eyes of society, sometimes not even in the eyes of their family. She had been trying so hard to turn their relationship into something normal, something _right_, equal man and woman with a future that included babies and china patterns.

"If you'd wanted right," his voice was deep, the words murmuring against one another like the purr of a great jungle cat when he spoke as lowly as he was now ", you'd a gone to prom with Carter Michaels and never had a damn thing to do with me."

And how hellish would her life have been without ever having known Hap this way? She sucked in a little gasp. She thought back to the night, months ago, when he'd taken her up to the ridge that overlooked Charming and they'd had the baby discussion. But even then, she still hadn't fully grasped what he'd been trying to tell her. He was so good at compartmentalizing, that he rarely spelled out all the little things he meant. Deductive skills were necessary on her part - and in this instance, she'd failed to use them. "Hap, I…"

Was what, sorry? Disappointed? Frustrated? Not really any of those. She didn't understand how he could still feel all the different ways he felt about her. She had thought, hoped maybe, that if she forced herself out of her childish box, that she could overcome the need to be anything aside from his Old Lady. But how was it possible for her when he, and what should have been his adult level of maturity, hadn't moved past their weird combinations of identity either?

He would always be so many things to her. And likewise, she was a combination of people in his mind. What he'd tried to tell her, what she hadn't wanted to believe…was that if she became just his Old Lady, just the woman waiting for him at home, she wouldn't be his girl. His kid. His Ava.

She watched him set the plate on the busted-up coffee table, still a portion of eggs and toast left for her if she wanted it. Watched him pop the tab on one of the cans of Mountain Dew and drink half of it. When he'd set the can aside, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and sat back to give her a flat look, she moved. Ava climbed into his lap, legs straddling his, her hands on his shoulders. If he was surprised, he didn't show it, hands sliding up the back of her neck to bury themselves in her hair, fingers gripping hard and twirling her dark locks around his knuckles. He pulled at her scalp until it hurt, but it somehow made the kiss sweeter. And that's how it was always going to be with him.

She wouldn't trade it.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: **If I'm going to put down this ugly dog of a story, I might as well do it in a nice place. So I've decided to add a few more chapters. Since this isn't a true prequel to "Gets in Your Blood", it might not end the way you think! Apologies for the overuse of Washington Irving in this chapter. I couldn't help myself.

…

At the ATF field office in San Francisco, California, Agent Holt noted the way the underlings kept clear of him as he strode down the long hall toward the nest of cubicles where the desk agents made their phone calls and pushed all the paper. Heads ducked down and side conversations stopped. Most of these agents were new and green, hungry for a chance to become a field agent and terrified of saying anything that might earn them his ill favor. But Holt wasn't after any of them. He saw the copper sheen of her hair, striking even under fluorescent lighting, well before he'd reached her desk.

"Stahl."

She held up a finger. "Hold on." And finished scribbling the note she'd been leaving in the margin of the document she was looking over.

Holt ground his teeth together, a command on the tip of his tongue, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to yell at this…woman. If he could call her that. She had a man's energy, and a man's sense of self-entitlement. Getting off on the wrong foot here would bring out her biting, sarcastic side and he wasn't sure he could get anything helpful out of her.

"M'kay," Stahl pushed her paperwork aside and tossed her bangs with a shake of her head, a very equine gesture. "What was it?"

"I need a sec." Holt nodded toward the hallway and after a moment's blank stare, the demoted agent nodded and rose, following him down to the break room. The front secretary was doctoring a cup of coffee and Holt sent her out with a quick hand motion, taking her place at the coffee pot.

"I have coffee at my desk," Stahl folded her arms and propped a bony hip against the Formica counter. Her voice had been pleasant, but he knew the meaning behind it wasn't.

Holt snorted, had to clench his teeth, but managed to keep silent. He'd been warned about this bitch, and they were warnings he fully intended to heed. He was careful to keep his expression and tone neutral as he made a slow, deliberate effort of pulling a Styrofoam cup from the plastic sleeve and filling it with coffee. "When you lost field privileges," he began, and was pleased to see her face tic. "You were working on RICO charges for an outlaw motorcycle club."

She sniffed loudly and he caught the flash of her hair as she faced away. "SOA," she said. Not Sons. Not Sons of Anarchy. She was on a more intimate basis with the club than that. They'd cost her a promising career, and he'd heard that the MC was her white whale – the untouchable enemy she still yearned to bring to justice.

"I heard you didn't have much luck."

There was a loaded pause. "No offense, Agent Holt, but you wouldn't be talking to me right now if you were having any luck of your own." He gave her a sharp glance and her tiny smile was knowing. "Am I right?"

He sighed and nodded, grudgingly. "It's just that…shit. Interviews got me nowhere."

"Of course they didn't."

He didn't like the lofty lilt to her voice. Or the look she was giving him. If she'd been better equipped for this assignment, then _she _wouldn't be riding a desk right now, and he'd still be in Houston where he belonged. "Who's running this investigation, you or me?" he barked.

She held up her long, thin hands in a helpless gesture. "Hey, you asked me in here." Her innocence was so much bullshit.

Holt ran a hand back through his thinning, sandy hair, cursing the false promises of Rogaine. "And that was a shit decision. Forget it. You're dismissed."

But Stahl didn't budge. She pushed her grey jacket back so her hands could rest on her hips. Her mouth twitched to the side. "No, you're right, it's your investigation. And if I can be of any help…"

Lying cunt. He was seeing why every man in the agency loathed her. "_Can_ you be of help?" he narrowed his eyes at her.

She shrugged. "If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't have pressed the boys." Her grin was wicked and sudden. "I'd have gone after the helpless ones."

"The women are -,"

"Gemma Morrow and Maggie Telford are about as helpless as rattlesnakes. They'll tell you nothing." She took a step toward him, eyes seeming huge and face too thin as she tilted her head. "Think about it: who has absolutely everything to lose? Who's easily manipulated, impressionable, vulnerable?"

"The girl."

Stahl smiled. "Exactly."

**-O-**

_From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country._

Ava smiled to herself as she turned the brown, weathered page of the book propped up on her knees. Her favorite table in the school library had been taken: the little round one tucked away in a corner of the reference section. Apparently, all the accounting majors were working on some monster project and had overrun the library. So she was sitting amongst the stacks up on the third floor, her back to a shelf, "researching" her Washington Irving paper.

_The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander in chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon ball, in some nameless battle in the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk, hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind._

Heavy footsteps thudded across the tile, stacks and stacks away over by the elevators, and Ava jumped, back straightening against the hard spines of the books behind her. For a moment, she envisioned the fabled Horseman in his muddy knee-high boots and swirling black cloak stepping off the elevator, a pumpkin tucked under his arm in place of the head he was after. "Stupid," she muttered to herself. All the horror movies and Stephen King novels had turned her into a skittish idiot.

The footfalls scuffed over carpet and then proceeded, muffled, but not much, still audible as whoever it was made his or her way through the stacks. Probably one of the accounting students who'd gotten lost over in the fiction section, she reasoned, lifting the book again.

_I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud; for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the great state of New York, that population, manners, and customs, remain fixed, while the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved._

The mystery walker was on the next aisle over. Ava glanced through the gaps in the books and saw a swatch of khaki trouser leg and the heel of a black shiny shoe. Decidedly not a student. Ava shut her book and held it against her chest as the stranger rounded the corner, and then her hands started shaking like Ichabod's as if she were riding through the benighted forests of Tarry Town as ATF Agent Holt stepped into view.

He paused, smiled a thick-faced, meaty smile, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his khakis. "Hello, Miss Telford. Fancy running into you here."

She'd been questioned too many times in her life to let any trace of her fright come through in her voice. "Fancy that when you came to my school you might run into me, you mean."

His grin tweaked to the side and he nodded, conceding her a point. "You have to admit, you do keep a predictable schedule." So he'd been watching her for awhile, then. He'd had agents hidden around the university, spying. "I was hoping we might be able to talk. Off the record of course."

"Of course," she echoed.

"What do you say we find somewhere more comfortable to sit? My arthritis can't take that floor stuff."

Wordlessly, she stood and stowed her book, collected her bag and purse, mentally calculating any possibilities of escape. No doubt he had agents stationed downstairs at the entrance to the library. And running would only make her look guilty. So she led the way to the big rectangular study table over by the window and sat with her back to a wheeled book cart, the window to her right, the hall leading to the elevators to her left. Holt sat across from her but she didn't make eye contact, instead choosing to gaze out at the blustery March night, tree limbs scraping together in the butter glow of the security lamp posts.

"The last time we spoke," Holt began ", it was under…regrettable circumstances." His sigh was coated in false hesitance. "Unfortunately, we have the same situation on our hands."

Ava allowed her eyes to cut toward him without moving her head. _Look without giving yourself away _Happy's wisdom was loud in her head. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

He chuckled. "You're well trained, I'll give you that much. But, come on now, we're not in Charming anymore. No need to play the same card, huh?"

…_for it is in such little retired valleys, embosomed in the great state of _California, _that population, manner and customs remain fixed…_

"I was never very good at cards," she said, straight-faced. "And, _unfortunately_, I have a paper due in the morning -,"

"Fine," his tone became clipped. He straightened his tie with an agitated motion. "I'm only trying to help you, you know." He sounded truly hurt. "I have a daughter about your age, and the thought of her…" he shook his head and sucked his bottom lip. He put both hands on the table, palms up in a classic pleading gesture. Ava was disgusted by the transparency of it all. Pleading? Men didn't plead with her. They all walked away…except for Hap. And like she was going to roll over on _him _in favor of this asshole? It was almost pitiable how little he understood. "Don't you like your life at school? With your books and your friends? You could really make something of yourself."

"I_ am_ making something of myself."

He gave a doubtful shrug and leaned further across the table. "But do you really think your man, the club, will let you get much further than this? Ava, what use does Happy have with an educated woman?"

She didn't want to, but she bristled. "Nobody likes a dumbass."

"No, no, you're right to be sure. I don't mean _dumb_, I mean…worldly. You finish school, you graduate, you get job offers, and where does that leave him, hmm?" He leaned even further, until he breached her personal bubble. "What does an outlaw biker need with a woman who gets home late and spends all her time with law-abiding citizens?"

She shook her head defiantly.

"He needs you at home, in the kitchen, in his bed, keeping your mouth shut -,"

"This has no relevance," she said. "Tara Teller is a doctor, for Christ's sakes, so your point is anything but valid. Happy pays for my apartment, he wants me to go to school." She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, but halted at his next words.

"He wants to get rid of you."

An icy chill rattled down her spine. Cops lied all the time, they lied worse than criminals, manipulated and broke promises, anything for a confession. Gemma had told her about Lyla's predecessor Luann, whose porn studio had been shut down by the ATF in an attempt to muscle info out of her. A little sweetbutt from Nevada had been threatened with extradition if she didn't squeal. She never doubted her willpower, knew for a fact that Holt had nothing tangible on her that he could use for leverage. Nonetheless, his barb had landed, its hooks sunk in her flesh. Because she'd asked herself the same thing over and over.

She pivoted back slowly, careful not to let him see a physical reaction from her.

"His father is a murderer," Holt said with earnest. "One of the hostages he killed in that failed robbery? She was eight months pregnant. He shot her in the belly, killed her and her baby without a second thought. Your man inherited that; he's just as much a killer as his old man, and probably his old man before him. What happens when you wind up pregnant, Ava? Do you think he'll be there? That he'll hold your hand? Proving to be his father's legacy might be the kindest thing he ever does to you."

Her throat was thick, voice tight when she managed to press words between her lips. She sank slowly back into her chair. "What do you want from me?"

"I need to know what happened to Melinda Bartlett and Mickey James."

Ava stared at him, at the sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead, the flush in his face. He could already taste sweet victory on his tongue, his eyes gave that much away. He lusted for this win like other men did money and women. It was a look she'd seen before, on the face of a drugged-out teenager as he'd tried to push her up against a wall. In an instant, she was back in that shed, the smell of rotted grass and sweat foul in her nostrils, her own knife biting into her arm as she grappled for it. That night, Hap's eyes had been black and dry, focused, his face all sharp angles and hard points, shadows darkening his cheeks until they looked lean as a wolf's muzzle. No glee, no flush, no lust…power, assuredness, the calm of a reaper.

She took a deep, calming breath and laid out the facts in her head. Holt didn't have so much as a hint of a lead, or he wouldn't have hunted her down at school. If any of the guys had proved even the slightest bit useful, he would have used them. All he had to go on was suspicion and conjecture – his informants were missing, and the trail was cold. He was standing there with figurative pumpkin all over his hands, stumped. Taking courage in the knowledge, she asked herself what her mother or Gemma would do in this situation.

Ava cocked her head to the side. "Did you ever read 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow'?"

Holt reeled back. "Excuse me?"

"You may have seen the Tim Burton interpretation," Ava continued ", and while I enjoy it, it's not true to the story. Not really. You see, Ichabod isn't handsome or, well, Johnny Depp, and he doesn't ride off with Katrina Van Tassel." Holt was frowning. "Ichabod disappeared at the end. And Katrina married Brom Bones."

The wind outside buffeted the window, the old seams cracking against the blast.

"Most people think the Horseman was really just Brom Bones all dressed up trying to scare Ichabod, and that he skipped town he was so frightened." She felt a little thrill go through her. "But I always wanted to believe the Horseman was real. Sometimes the answers are never as easy as a man in a costume." She shrugged.

"Costume, or _cut_?"

She shrugged again.

Holt cleared his throat. "While I appreciate the literature lesson, we're still not any closer to an answer here, Ava. I know you know something, even just a little something about my informants. If you help me with this, I can help you. College tuition. Job offers, a normal life away from this. _A good life. _You won't ever be held captive by the likes of Sam Morales again." He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "Get out before he _wants _you out, sweetheart. We can protect you if you'll let us."

Ava didn't have to check the weathered copy of _The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon _in her bag: she knew the last bit of the story by heart. The next morning, when the townsfolk had searched for Ichabod – Ichabod the outsider, the newcomer, the one trying to swindle the rich old man Van Tassel out of a daughter and inheritance – he had been gone. Nothing left but his hat, some hoof prints, and a smashed pumpkin.

"Melinda Bartlett, and, well, I knew him as Pete Stallings, just up and disappeared. I dunno about you, agent Holt, but my theory is they were _spirited away by supernatural means_." She stood again and collected her things. "May I please be excused now?"

He heaved a sigh. "Yeah."

**TBC**


	19. Chapter 19

Happy had let Ava sew the new Redwood patches on his cut. At least, she'd tried. She'd pricked her fingers half a dozen times and had cursed when she left little dots of blood over the white threads. He hadn't really minded – blood was a big part of his commitment to the club, other people's, not his, so having a little of hers on his cut had actually been kind of nice. Still, Maggie had taken the thread and needle from her daughter and finished it for her. Mags was always doing that shit, _mothering _everybody. Him included. Her Old Man let her get away with a lot.

He shot a look down the table at Chibs; the Scot was stroking his goatee and staring at the wall, not seeming to pay attention to what Jax was telling them. Hap knew he heard, though, just like he heard, like they all heard. Juice was fiddling with a toothpick or something, making that sad-puppy face. Opie was twirling his biggest ring around the middle finger of his right hand. Tig was counting ceiling tiles. But they all listened, though the news was poor.

"I didn't take that Holt guy to be one who went after kids," Bobby scowled down into his coffee mug, shaking his head, curly hair falling loose of its knotted ponytail. "That's a woman's game."

It didn't matter that Ava was twenty years old and two months away from graduating college, she was still a "kid" in the eyes of the club. And to Hap, though he always kept that to himself. He hadn't doubted her staunch loyalty for a second, but the ATF pussy who'd decided it was better to hound students than bring the accusations to the club man-to-man needed to be cut to ribbons. Little, skinny ribbons, like the ones Ava used to braid into her hair when she was a little girl. His brothers were bothered by it too, even Tig, who'd kept up a continuous string of obscenities in reference to the situation in general.

"I was gonna let this thing ride till they gave up," Jax looked exhausted. "But if they keep sniffin' around, they're gonna find an excuse. Some little shit. But it'll be enough to stick us with RICO charges. If they're followin' Ava around, you can goddamn bet they've got eyes on us too."

"Layin' a fake trail's tricky business, Jackie-boy," Chibs advised.

Opie nodded. "Retaliation from whoever we blame could bring the feds circling back."

"Aye."

"Yeah."

"Shit."

Jax sighed, pulled his reaper cap off, scratched his head, put it back on.

Hap dug in his pocket for another smoke, feeling restless. As a Nomad, he'd popped in on church meets at a new charter each week. But now he was back to being all about Redwood, and this charter's problems were his major concern. Nomads didn't do much planning, it was always about the execution of the plans. Or straight up execution. So he didn't feel like he was of much use back in the war room.

The silence was thick with thoughtful looks and cigarette smoke, and when Tig slammed forward in his chair, everyone's head snapped around. "Alvarez," he said, smacking his palm down on the table, and then he just sat there, looking satisfied, but offering no further explanation. Hap wanted to smile; he loved his bro, but the man lived in his own little Tig-world.

Jax frowned. "Alvarez is -,"

"Nah," Tig shook his head ", I don't mean pin it on _him_…"

It started with Tig's bold suggestion, then others added possibilities, voices flew back and forth rapid-fire, but everyone had his chance to speak, and by the time Jax ended church with a tap of the gavel, a plan had been formed. It was risky, there were so many opportunities for failure, but if it could be pulled off, it was pretty damn good in Hap's estimation. Juice had lit out of the chapel instantly, already headed for his "office" to get the ball rolling. And Tig had sworn he could take care of convincing Hale, at least in part.

Bobby was lingering at the door as he rose from the table. Safe inside the walls of the chapel, he didn't try to conceal his limp, put all his weight on his right leg as he gimped to the double doors. It was always worse when he'd been sitting still for an extended period and as much as he masked the weakness outside the clubhouse, where a weakness could get your ass killed, he was lucky he hadn't ground his teeth down to nubs. So now he limped, and Bobby didn't comment as he approached.

The club secretary was holding a fat roll of ink jet paper that he'd come into the chapel with, and unfurled it now. "I think I found something for you," he glanced up and regarded him over the tops of his reading glasses.

"That was fast."

He shrugged. "My sister's friend is an agent. She sent me a buncha listings." Bobby pulled off the topmost sheet and passed it to Hap. The picture was small and grainy, but even so the little grey ranch house wasn't much to look at. "Two bedrooms, one bath and a carport," Bobby said. "I can get you in to look at it this afternoon if you want."

Unbidden, Hap's hand crept up until he was trying to massage a kink from the back of his neck in vain. He needed skinny white fingers and a bony little elbow to work the knots from his back, and both of those things were in Sacramento at the moment, evading an ATF agent with a grudge.

"It's a great price," Bobby urged. "It won't be on the market long."

Hap felt like a bit of an ass, standing there looking at real estate listings, when Tig popped back into the chapel. "Jax wants us to stop in and meet with Alvarez." He frowned. "What're you guys doing?"

Bobby grinned. "Perfect. We can look at the house on the way back."

**-O-**

The house was about a mile from Tig's place, one of three variations on a street full of similar, squatty little houses. It was an odd neighborhood: weed-choked lawns beside manicured emerald carpets, collapsing carports full of junk next to enclosed garages with American flags flapping merrily from between double bay doors. There were gardens along some walks, children's toys along others. It was a relatively cheap part of town, and while the majority of the residents had let their homes go to ruin, others took extreme pride in their tiny little places and it showed through fresh paint, flowers and clean cars in the drives.

Bobby had pulled his bike up into the driveway of 4120 where a black Saab was parked and waiting. A short mouse of a woman stood beside the car with a folder in her arms – arms that were banded tight around her middle as the three bikers killed their engines. In retrospect, Hap realized they hadn't all needed to come. The real estate agent wouldn't do them any good if she passed out from fear. But whatever, they were all here now.

Tig was pulling off his gloves and slapped one hand down on top of the chain link fence that surrounded the little patchy front yard. "Too short," he commented. "Couldn't keep a dog out, much less a person."

Hap shrugged. He had a feeling the thing would be hauled off to the dump as per the new owner's request.

Bobby had gone to the agent immediately and the two were chatting now, her arms looking a little looser, some color coming back into her cheeks. Aside from Jax, Bobby was probably the most disarming of all of the crew, and he was playing the part well. Hap didn't like to kiss-ass and suck up. Not even if it was about this house. He would if he had to…but why go to the effort if Bobby was around?

"How much wiggle room do you think we have with the asking price?" Bobby asked the mouse.

She adjusted her glasses and even through the thick lenses, Hap watched her eyes cut over his direction, saw them widen as he made his way up the driveway. _Afraid _her face screamed. "It's flexible," she said in a strong tone that Hap knew was forced. She turned back to Bobby. "Is this house in the top or bottom of your price range?"

Bobby chuckled. "Oh, it's not my price range we're talkin' about, darlin'." He nodded in Hap's direction. "That's your buyer right there."

**-O-**

"I wrote it out for you," Juice tapped the little spiral bound notepad with the chewed-up end of a pen ", I'd practice it in front of the mirror, run through it several different ways, learn it until it feels natural."

Holly slid the notepad toward her across the paper-strewn desk in the corner of the clubhouse that he'd referred to as his "office". She scanned the slanted, all caps notes that he'd jotted for her and committed them to memory. She would practice in front of the mirror like he'd suggested, but just looking at it now would have been enough. Tig had called and told her that the club needed her help, and she'd been both honored and terrified by the possibility, had driven straight to the clubhouse at his request. Only Juice had been waiting for her instead of Tig. And it wasn't that she didn't trust Juice – he was a brother after all – or that she didn't like him, he was very sweet and considerate and always spoke to her in a pleasant voice…but Tig had called her "mine", and Tig would have been sure to send anyone or anything that was his into battle fully prepared. Not that Juice wasn't preparing her, that's why he was telling her to practice, but it wasn't the same. Even though Tig would have been coarse and unsmiling, serious and threatening, it would have somehow been more comforting than all of Juice's politeness.

"Okay," she agreed, watching as Juice started shuffling papers and empty cigarette packs around, looking for something amongst the Power Bar wrappers, empty Red Bull cans, used dishes and glasses with sticky residue in the bottom. There were magazines, operating manuals, maps and printouts everywhere, even on top of his computer monitor. He had a laptop she'd seen him with, but apparently he still used the ancient Dell that was currently printing pages and pages of something, the corner of the room filled with the chugging sounds of the laser printer.

Holly should have excused herself, but instead watched him continue to dig through the mountains on the desk, once again struck by how different he was from Happy. He chewed his fingernails and they looked ragged because of it. He was messy and quirky and talked too much, his occasional swagger looked more like a kid playing dress up. He was worlds away from Ava's Old Man aside from a few physical similarities, and yet…

"Hey, Juice?" she asked tentatively, already cringing at her ill-timed sense of boldness.

"Hmm?" he put a pencil in his teeth and moved a whole stack of bike mags to the other side of the desk, uncovering a handful of stale, abandoned Cheerios.

"Can I…can I ask you a really inappropriate question?"

He snorted and spit out the pencil. It rolled a little ways before it bumped into the keyboard. "Only if Tig's not around, which he isn't, so shoot."

Holly wasn't so uneducated that she didn't know Juice was an anomaly – one of the other Sons wouldn't have dared answer her that way. There was an odd innocence about him that caused a lapse in more MC ways of thinking. She hoped she wasn't going to get him in trouble, but she was too curious now. "Tig says you're Ava's future husband," she said carefully. "What's that about?"

He rolled his eyes, but Holly hadn't missed the sudden tension that had rippled through his body. For just a moment, he'd clenched up tight, like a dog afraid it would be struck, a flicker of his fingers, a twitch of his facial muscles. "No offense to you or anything, but Tig's an asshole."

Holly couldn't help but grin. "That I know."

But when she didn't get up right away, Juice frowned. He didn't seem the sort that did well with being stared at. She had a feeling the quiet game had never been his forte.

"It's nothing," he said, shaking his head. "I help my brothers when they need it," his voice was oddly firm, like he was convincing himself and not just her.

Holly felt guilty. She'd deduced, based on Tig's comments and the whispers of the sweetbutts, that Happy had asked Juice to look after Ava in the event that…she didn't really want to think about it. Because if it could happen to Happy, it could happen to Tig. And she couldn't even imagine what she'd feel if Tig tried to will her to one of his brothers. It almost seemed cruel, determining Ava's life that way, choosing a man without Ava's input, who was nothing like the man she would be losing…

Holly inhaled sharply and then regretted it when Juice glanced her way. His eyes, normally guileless and wide open to the world, were narrowed and suspicious. Holly stood quickly, snatching up the notebook. "Thanks," she managed before she made a hasty retreat toward the clubhouse door.

Outside, evening was descending like a dark warm coverlet being tucked in around the edges of the horizon. Holly hugged herself against the oncoming chill as she walked toward her car, the breeze pulling at the long, draped edges of her sweater. She'd never thought much about Happy aside from knowing it was wise to give him a wide berth at parties. He had a mean face and an even meaner assortment of tattoos. More power to Ava if she loved him, which she did, Ava loved him more than anything, and Holly was no stranger to loving the unlovable. But she hadn't understood what Ava had always meant by all the "different types of love" until Juice's stricken face tonight. And she had a feeling Juice's guilt wasn't just guilt, but also misery. Because he hadn't agreed to Hap's request out of brotherly obligation alone, and he had no idea how he'd prove that to Ava should the worst ever come to pass.

Happy cared about Ava in ways that none of them could really comprehend. Enough to ensure that he left Ava to a man who loved her.

**-O-**

"How was your day?" It felt like such a domestic, wifely thing to say, so Ava said it every night, her cell phone cradled against her ear as she sank back against her pillows and dreamed she was back home. Tonight, she was still awake, at her kitchen card table with her laptop and a half a dozen library books, looking up the answers to the obscure questions that were a part of her British Literature scavenger hunt assignment.

"Good." Hap's voice was its usual blend of smoke, gravel and truck engine, but tonight it had a lighter note to it, not so grumpy or tinged with alcohol the way it was sometimes. He'd been in a decent mood lately, even if Agent Holt still proved a complication. And though he didn't give her details or bend her ear, she still felt close to him through just the one word. Happy wasn't verbose, and she didn't need him to be over the phone, she wanted him to be authentically Happy so that her thoughts of him were true and sweet as she went to sleep.

"No visits from our friend?" Holt was referred to by a loose handful of vague terms over the phone – ever on their private cells.

"Nah. Just likes pickin' on little girls I guess."

Ava didn't correct his "little girl" comment. She pinned the phone between her cheek and shoulder so she could put a note in the margin of her textbook.

"You still there?" he asked.

_Oops. _She was usually the one responsible for maintaining the conversation, allowing him to interject when he felt the need. She had a habit of rambling, talking about school or whichever loser Caroline was dating, the profs she couldn't stand and kids who ticked her off, but he never seemed to mind. She wondered, sometimes, though she doubted, if he used their conversations late at night as a lullaby too.

"Sorry," she took the phone back in her hand. "I've been working on this project and –,"

"Oh. You need to go?"

"No!" she said quickly. She didn't want to hang up, even if it pushed her work into the wee hours of the morning. She missed him too much for that. And they hadn't even gotten to the part where he started asking what she was wearing and she lied that she was in the black corset thing he liked so much. "No, I'm good. So…you heard from our friend recently?"

"You already asked me that," his chuckle never failed to send a little thrill through her, but she was guilty the next second. Shit, was Holt right? She was stressed and tired and couldn't even seem to remember which questions she'd already asked. She was making time for everything but Happy and they were already living apart, what came next? Was her ambition actually going to get between them?

She didn't realize she was breathing in quick, almost panicky bursts until Hap prompted her.

"Ava, what's wrong, baby?"

It was such an uncharacteristically sentimental concern coming from him, that she bit her lip hard so he wouldn't hear the tremor in her voice. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"No," she forced a smile and hoped it would make her sound more genuine even if she didn't feel it.

It was a silent a moment on the other end and Ava knew a "goodnight" was coming. They were both a little ragged over the ATF thing and what few wits she'd had left had been drained by school. She couldn't blame him, even if the disconnect would sting.

But then he asked ", when you graduate, you're gonna be able to find a job in Charming, right?"

This time her smile was genuine. She released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "That's the plan, yeah."

**TBC**


	20. Chapter 20

Hale leaned back in his favorite leather-padded desk chair and folded his hands one over the other on top of his belt buckle. Across the desk from him, looking small and timid, ankles crossed and hands fidgeting in her lap, Holly Jessup nibbled at her bottom lip and seemed to be looking everywhere but at him. Her big green eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Poor thing. It wasn't the first time he'd seen an otherwise decent woman become a puppet whose strings lay twisted around the hands of the club. Holly, like he figured many of the puppets did, was regretting her decisions. And though he knew her sudden bout of bravery couldn't have come at a worse time, he'd do all that he could to help her. What she had to say, however, wasn't what he'd expected. "Come again?" he said, frowning.

Holly inhaled deeply, the breath shuddering in her throat. She dashed at her eyes the heel of her hand. "I told her it was a bad idea," she shook her head ", over and over. But she would only listen to Pete. Being her friend didn't matter: I wasn't an Old Lady and she thought that meant…I mean," she sniffled ", obviously I wasn't an authority on anything. On fitting in with the club. She said that…that…if I could still be around, no way would she get caught."

As she curled up on herself, sinking even lower in the chair, Hale frowned. "Why didn't you tell any of this to Agent Holt when he was here?"

"I know what that other agent tried to do to the club," she said, glancing up at him with watery, red-rimmed eyes.

"Stahl."

She nodded. "If Melinda and Pete were really informants…he wasn't looking for the truth. Just a story that would get the boys all locked up."

He had to agree with her on that one: at least mentally. The ATF wasn't looking to pin a single murder on the particular Sons who'd orchestrated it. They were looking for a collapse of the entire MC, women, friends, contacts and all. Like always, he conjured up an image of Tara Knowles – well, Tara Teller now – and was astounded that as a professional woman, a mother, she could have let herself become a part of an organization so destined for failure. But she had. She was one of the innocents, like poor, confused Holly here. And unlike Stahl, and Holt, he felt more than a fleeting sense of duty to protect the innocent ones in any way he could.

"So," he swiveled his chair side-to-side ", Pete and Melinda were in deep with their heroin debt. You know the Sons don't take kindly to dealing inside Charming borders."

"These guys weren't in Charming."

"Why not shut them down anyway?"

"The club didn't know about them."

"At least as far as you know."

Holly heaved a strained sigh. "I dunno, Chief," she was starting to sound hopeless. "All I know is that Melinda said the Mexican dealers were pushing their way into Lodi. She was getting spooked because Pete owed them ten grand." Her expression became sad and far-away as she stared at the wall where his personal photos and academy certifications were hung. "She was my friend, you know? I had more in common with the hangarounds than the Old Ladies, they…" another deep, shivering breath threatened to bring the tears down her cheeks. "I was afraid to get Melinda in trouble for going behind the club like that, bringing drugs into Charming. And she loved Pete. But now that they haven't come back…" she did start crying then; delicate, earnest sobs that had all the chivalrous parts of his personality twisting.

"Holly," he sat forward, his elbows on the desk. "I know this is difficult for you. You and Melinda must have gotten pretty close."

She nodded.

"But I don't want you to be afraid and I want you to trust me here, okay? Can you do that?"

Another nod.

"Alright, let's go back to the beginning. Do you know the names of any of these dealers?"

**-O-**

Tig crushed out his fifth cigarette and lit another, sucking down a quarter of it on the first drag. An alien breed of nerves was coursing through him, his fingers twitching and curling and tearing restlessly at his hair when he raked them across his scalp. When _he _was dispatched to handle something, it was business as usual, but this time, _Holly _had been called upon. And though he'd argued the points that she wasn't as invested as some of the other Old Ladies, hell, she wasn't even an Old Lady, that she was nervous by nature…he'd known she may have been the best actress of the bunch. And that being on the outskirts of the girls' club was a mark in her favor. Jax had known it too and he'd had that goddamn smug look all over his face when he'd told Tig that, since she wasn't technically an Old Lady, he shouldn't mind her doing a favor for the club. Tripped up on a fucking technicality.

In his mind he ran through the countless ways she could fuck this up. Hale wasn't cunning or anything, but he wasn't a total dumbass. If Holly didn't play it just right, if her tears looked fake or she forgot a single element of the story Juice had helped her concoct…

"You still sittin' out here all nervous and shit?"

So lost in his own head, he hadn't heard Bobby approach. He regarded the secretary who now stood beside his picnic table, mug of something steaming in one of his hands. Chibs had gotten him hooked on tea and now both the idiots walked around with those gay little strings dangling out of their cups.

Bobby wasn't alone, though, Hap was with him, hands in his pockets, hood of his sweatshirt popped up against the unseasonably cold breeze that was whistling through the parking lot. His dark eyes and deep sockets seemed even more shadowy beneath the hood, giving him an eerie resemblance to the reapers on the backs of their cuts. And unlike Bobby, Hap was watching the gate, wearing a carefully blank expression that still managed to look like a scowl.

"Nah," he lied, sucking down the rest of his cigarette and exhaling through his nostrils. The club was risking a lot putting so much trust in Holly, but if she failed, the blame would land at his feet. And that dark look of Hap's would be directed his way.

"Have a little faith in your girl," Bobby advised. "If she puts up with _you_, then she's got Hale in the bag."

Hap snorted at that, a wicked half smile twitching up one of his cheeks. Tig felt his right hand curl into a fist and had the urge to knock the stupid smirk off the killer's face. Which was a welcome and familiar impulse. When you kept two dogs chained up together, sooner or later, they had to have a go at each other, spill a little blood, slink away to lick their wounds as friends. Hap was his favorite sparring partner because his pride was never wounded and he didn't hold a grudge.

As if he was sensing the same thing, Hap's black, shark eyes cut his direction. Tig flexed his hand again. Maybe a couple rounds in the ring would help to shake the nerves he'd lied about not having. Couldn't hurt.

But Bobby dispelled the possibility. "Here she is."

And sure enough her Camaro was pulling in at the gate, cherry and gleaming as always. She didn't park over by Maggie's CTS in front of the office the way the doc or the kid would have, instead left the car amongst the customer and mechanics' rides before heading their way. Dread curled up in Tig's stomach, tight as a fist, as he watched her boots clip across the pavement. She had her shades on, the big obnoxious ones with the black lenses, and she had one of those little bow mouths that didn't give much away, so her expression was unreadable. He almost wanted to meet her halfway across the lot so that if the news was bad, he could drag her away before she blurted it out in front of his brothers and made him look like an idiot. If she let him down today, if she failed…he wasn't sure what he was going to do. But his aggression was suddenly channeled toward Holly where a moment before he'd been thinking about having a go at Hap.

But he didn't move, instead remained seated, digging another smoke from his pack as Holly drew up to a halt in front of them and pushed her shades up into her hair. Her small smile was pleased when she directed it his way, but it was Bobby who spoke.

"How'd it go, darlin'?"

She took an anticipatory breath – Tig knew the other members still made her nervous. "I think it went okay. Unless he's a very good actor, Chief Hale bought the story."

Bobby grinned.

Tig shook his head. "Goddamn Captain America."

**-O-**

Jax seemed charged that night at church, nodding overly much as Juice went on and on and _on_ about the false persona he'd created to bait Alvarez's reject dealers into Charming and all the little technical difficulties he'd been presented with, but over which he had managed to prevail. Tig didn't care about any of that. He wanted the nerd to just say "yep, it's all taken care of," and leave it at that. So Tig fiddled with his lighter and resigned himself to listening as ADD got hold of the kid and he detailed them to death.

"Okay," Jax said when he was done, twitching his eyebrows in a gesture that suggested he'd been just as bored. Then he got one of those smug smiles on his face. "So we're all set up. Holly's story to Hale is hearsay, so feds won't be able to move on it yet. By the time Juice gets the paper trail set up to pin the rats' death on the dealers, they'll have moved into Charming. Charming PD gets the arrest, Hale's happy, and we get to move out from under the microscope."

"And if it doesn't all blow up in our bloody faces," Chibs said with a slight shake of his head ", it just might work, Jackie-boy."

**-O-**

Holly pulled the clip out of her hair and massaged her sore scalp as she sank down onto the edge of the bed. It was after two and though she'd skipped dinner, her shift at the bar had left her too tired to go to the effort of putting together even cold leftovers. She wasn't even sure she wanted to shower, might just roll over and pull up the covers.

The sound of the key in the back door startled her and she sat up, hands falling from her hair. She recognized the loud thump of booted feet, though, and waited, naked save for her bra and panties, knees curled up on top of the mattress, as Tig stepped into the doorway.

"Hey." He didn't seem surprised or glad to see her sitting there like that, nor did he make any sudden moves to join her.

"Hi," she offered a tired smile. "I thought you'd be staying behind after church."

He shrugged with one shoulder, leaning to prop the other one against the doorjamb, fixating on a spot on the wall. From the side, his eyes almost looked translucent. "Not much going on tonight. I can get outta here though if -,"

"No." She sat up straighter, suddenly very touched that he would even offer to leave her alone to sleep. There was a time when he would have come in at four a.m., sliding under the sheets and startling her awake as his hands pulled her panties down. _Baby steps, _she thought with a huge internal grin. "No, stay. You want something to eat? I've got some roast beef in the fridge. With some of that horseradish sauce you like."

His mouth twisted up. "Nah. Bobby made some kinda…homemade…pizza shit."

The internal smile was threatening to become outward – leave it to Tig to try and find fault with Bobby's cooking – but she wondered, if not hungry for food, why he was still in the threshold. Even if he wasn't as primal all the time, didn't use his cock sliding between her legs as an alarm clock, he wasn't one to wait bashfully for some kind of invitation. Still, invite she did, swinging her legs around and sliding back against the pillows, patting the comforter next to her.

But he frowned and came no closer.

"What, Tig?"

His frown darkened, becoming downright sinister. "You really helped the club today. Not just me, ya know? But the club."

A warm, happy flush started in the middle of her chest and swept outward, her toes wiggling. She could only imagine the aren't-you-just-pathetic looks she'd earn from the other Old Ladies, but she didn't care – being appreciated, being helpful was a fantastic, foreign feeling.

Tig didn't seem to share her sentiment. Or, if nothing else, he was confused about his own reaction. He folded his arms and then scratched at his chin. Restless. "Things aren't gonna change around here," he said, and she hadn't been expecting that.

She frowned too. "I didn't say I needed them to."

"No, but I know people have been fillin' your head full of shit."

"Ava, you mean?" Holly sighed when he didn't respond. He was so stubborn, so hell-bent on maintaining what to some looked like a front, but what she knew to be the truth. Tig was never going to be the sweet guy, the understanding guy, the guy who bought flowers and liked Valentine's Day. But he seemed constantly afraid that she'd start expecting that from him. That somehow, being friends with Ava would turn her into a different woman who wanted and needed a different kind of man. "I don't…" she gathered a breath and her thoughts. "I didn't help you out today because I expected anything in return. If anything, I did it as a way to say 'thank you' for all you do for me."

He scowled at her suspiciously.

"It's true," she went on. "You know that I'd be," she held out her hands in a helpless gesture ", _not_ here if not for you. I'm not asking for more."

She was met by silence.

"And as for Ava," she said, deciding this revelation was far overdue. "If…if you demand for me to ignore her, fine. I can do that. But she's a part of your family. She's with one of your brothers. If I can't trust another Old Lady, who can I?" She took another deep breath. "Tig, I'm not going to turn into Ava. That would be impossible. And her relationship with Hap…that won't ever be us, or anyone for that matter. She's not even his Old Lady. It's like she's some kind of…part of him or something," he made a face, but she knew it was true as she said it, and plunged on. "Ava isn't really his partner. I don't think, bless her heart, she'll ever be his wife. She's this precious little person to him and he's too jealous and loves her too much, worries about her…he had to make her his Old Lady. It was be with or let her go, and he couldn't do that."

Tig took a step into the room so he could lean back against the door frame, the hard planes and angles of his face settling into a thoughtful expression. "He could let her go. He just doesn't have the balls to."

A strange conviction filled her up, making her braver than she should have been. But she knew she was right. And she knew, that beneath the surface, they weren't talking about Happy and Ava at all. "It's got nothing to do with balls. Walking away from a terrible situation, putting an end to misery, that takes balls that some of us don't have." _People like me once upon a time. _"But_ staying_…staying doesn't make him weak. Keeping her isn't a fault. It's so damn easy to be alone. I don't figure he's ever had an easy time with his brothers about it…that's not weakness, Tig."

She expected any number of reprimands for saying too much, for defending what she thought was a false opinion of one of his brothers. When he shoved away from the wall she cringed, knowing she'd far overstepped her bounds. He came all the way to the bed and sat down hard, the springs squeaking and mattress dipping. Her gut tightened and her skin prickled in anticipation of some kind of assault, her whole body shaking by the time his hand slid around her neck.

But he didn't squeeze, instead slid his thumb beneath her jaw and used it to turn her head toward him, almost caressing her though she knew it must look like she was being strangled. "You make my life more complicated than it should be," he said in low, deep voice she wasn't used to. But the way his eyes bored into hers, so very blue and wide and too pretty to belong to a man, she knew he didn't mean it as an insult. His thumb slid down to the base of her throat and pushed just the slightest, letting her feel the strength he kept at bay, showing her how easily her life could be ended. "If you ever betrayed me -,"

"But you don't have to worry about that," she said softly, knowing his threat was empty, knowing that he'd done and said this a hundred times and that he'd still stand aside if she ever wanted to go.

**TBC**


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: **Apologies, guys! It's been so hard to find writing time. Short chapter this time, but I'm piecing together the rest of the chapters and I'm hoping to have a nice meaty one up next time.

…

"So you have an interview Monday?" Holly was either a fantastic actress, or she really did care. Always engaged in a conversation, always asking pertinent questions, never judgmental or entitled to give some sort of worldly wisdom the way the other women always seemed to be.

Ava nodded, tipping her beer bottle back again. It was her first night back, in essence, her graduation party, although it was just a clubhouse party and in no way had been intended as "her" party. But when she'd chosen not to walk, had packed up her apartment and come home, her first Friday night bash felt extra celebratory. And she was drinking too much in said celebration, was feeling all warm and friendly. Monday seemed a very long way off.

"Yeah," she said when she'd swallowed. "It's this publishing house in Lodi. They put on all the book fairs at the local schools. It won't be writing, really, but it's getting my foot in the door of that world."

"That's great!"

"It is," she agreed, letting her eyes skim across the room again. It wasn't just Holly; everyone seemed to be in a pretty good mood, which gave her hope that maybe the cloud of the ATF had moved along, giving them a brief respite from the scrutiny. Her mother had hugged her at least fifty times, her dad had ruffled her hair and told her how proud he was, though whiskey had slurred the sentiment. Even Hap – aside from his general gruff complaints over the moving process – was relaxed. He'd let himself into her Sacramento apartment at six that morning, waking her as he slid, fully clothed, into bed beside her. He'd scared the living hell out of her. And then helped her put all her meager belongings into a U-Haul and they'd headed back to Charming. Hap was hanging out with Tig and Bobby now, an actual smile splitting his tan face.

"He's been in a good mood," Holly observed.

Ava returned her attention to their table, peeling at a scrap of her bottle label. "Yeah." Tig's girl was giving her a look that was sort of encouraging, like she was in need of cheering up. She wasn't, was she? No way. Maybe Holly was just pleased that she was feeling more comfortable with talking about the other Sons, felt more a part of the club and its members than she had. "I think he must be sick," she said with a snort.

"Maybe he's just missed having you around all the time. He's glad you're back."

She frowned. "Hap doesn't miss people in the general sense. We have fun together, but I'm sure he appreciates his alone time."

To her surprise, Holly's expression became smug. It looked strange, but very right on her. Suddenly, Ava was reminded that, Tig's little lamb though she may have been, the girl wasn't a robot. There was a damn good little actress in there. One that had been slick enough to fool Hale and the feds. "Oh, I dunno," she said ", I think he misses you more than you give him credit for."

When a hand settled on her shoulder, she jumped a little. _Damn it. _

Hap chuckled behind her. "Come on, 'fraidy cat. Let's you and me go somewhere."

Holly just smiled.

**-O-**

At first she thought they were headed to her parents' house, but when he turned left off of Main, Ava tightened her arms around Hap and started to wonder. The street became darker, more crowded, the lawns shaggier. She recognized the sign for Flagley Street – Tig's street – and her stomach did a strange lurch. The moon was a yellow, dewy crescent in the black net of the sky, stars sparse around it, and the rumble of the bike's engine felt obscenely loud in the quiet, modest neighborhood they cruised through.

_Where are you taking me? _She had to think it because she couldn't say it over the motor. It didn't matter, ultimately. His body felt strong everywhere she touched: his abs under her hands, the plane of his shoulder against her cheek, his hard thighs where her knees gripped them. It didn't really matter where he took her – she was with him, and there was no school to pull her away again. Until Monday, she had no other commitments, no diversions, she was just his.

Ava pushed all her doubts and questions down to a dark corner of her mind, careful to keep neutral as he pulled into the drive of a house and killed the engine. The place looked uninhabited – not a single light on, the yard weed-choked. In the dark, the carport looked dilapidated and frightening, like the entrance to a horror movie scenario – masked men with knives liked to hide in shaded alcoves like that nasty carport. A street lamp hinted at what daylight would unveil: the paint was peeling, the wood siding sagging in places. It was a veritable dump. But Ava shook out her hair and left her helmet on the bike's seat, offering Hap a curious smile when he turned back to her, pulling his gloves off.

"You wanna go in?"

The last thing she wanted was to go in, but she nodded. Trepidation must have shown on her face, though she tried her hardest to hide it, because Hap twitched a half grin.

"It'll be a'ight."

"I know," she said quickly, not wanting him to think that she didn't trust his ability to keep her safe. _Christ, _she thought, hooking two fingers through one of his belt loops and following him up the cracked front walk. Her hope that coming home would magically take away her worries was fading fast. She couldn't seem to put her feet back on the ground, was tiptoeing and questioning, trying too hard to please him. She wanted to blame the ATF, that whore informant Holly had bashed in the head with a chair. But the truth was, even after his "more than my Old Lady" spiel, she couldn't get settled. Couldn't relax. Which was so, so stupid it had her grinding her teeth as Hap fitted a key into the lock of the front door. Wait – she perked up – why did he have a key?

Inside it smelled musty, stale, uninhabited. And the pitch darkness made her hesitant. She pressed her palm against the hard sinews of his back and followed him in close as a whisper. The soft _click _of a switch preceded the overheard light, and when she'd stopped squinting, the expected squalor was confirmed.

They were in the living room/family room, no entryway to speak of. Wall-to-wall carpet had once been tan, was now a Dalmatian pattern of various shades of brown. There was a hole in the sheetrock of one wall. The wood blades of the ceiling fan drooped.

"Um…"

"It's a shithole," he confirmed, walking forward, bringing her with him because she wasn't ready to let go.

The tour – silent and unguided as it was – lasted all of a minute. The little ranch had a disaster of a kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bath with a shower curtain she hadn't been brave enough to pull back. They ended up in what she guessed was the master because it was attached to the bath. The double closets had sliding, mirrored doors. And the globes of the light fixture were a garish rose color. Ava tuned in a slow circle, arms around her middle as if to ward off germs, and frowned.

"What exactly are we doing here, Hap?"

He chuckled. "You haven't figured that out yet, college girl?"

She tried to read his face, and couldn't. She used to pride herself on reading him, knowing what went on in that dark head of his. But now…she had no clue. And it was frustrating to the point of devastation. She shook her head. "Hap -,"

"It's yours."

"Excuse me?"

"Ours, I guess. Yeah." He scratched at his jaw in a casual gesture. "I bought a house."

**TBC**


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: **Thanks so much for reviewing, guys. I apologize in advance because I'm not sure when the next update will be along. I have a chapter of both my stories ready to post, then it's a guessing game after that. One of my horses is very sick and trying to recover from surgery, so there may be a delay. Thanks again. Fanfic is giving me a nice distraction today and I really appreciate having such great readers!

…

He hadn't bought the falling-apart, sack-of-shit house because he expected the most fantastic blow job in return. That was just a bonus, he guessed. Grateful girls gave awesome head. And then smiled the widest, most dazzling smiles as they sat back on their knees, wiping the corners of their mouths with delicate, chrome-tipped fingers.

Ava was shaking head to toe when she crawled up onto the bed beside him and then turned so she was stretched out on her back. The lamp caught the faint sheen of sweat on her skin. She was flushed, breathing heavily, tight, erect nipples drawing his eyes as her chest pumped up and down and she undulated ever so slowly on the mattress.

The mattress that was sitting directly on the floor. There was no sense setting up the bed until the carpet was replaced, which kept getting pushed back on the to-do list in favor of things like busted faucets, insecure door locks, sheetrock damage, and the toilet Ava had refused to come within five feet of. But hey, at least there was a mattress. With a girl on it.

Hap watched her abs jump when he settled his palm on her stomach, his fingers pulling lazy circles around her navel. "You a'ight?"

She was still sporting a dark bruise on her forehead where one of the closet shelves had come toppling down on her, and without makeup, it looked even darker than it had that afternoon. Her smile was still intact though. He felt her hand, just the ends of her fingers, brush against his. "Yeah."

He reached lower, down across the smooth flat of her belly, down between her legs until he heard her sharp intake of breath. Most of the time, he relished the thought that she was his fine-tuned little plaything, perfectly synched to react to his touch, his body. But other times, like on a late Sunday night when they were both sore and tired and proud that the house looked a little less shitty around them, he relished…her. The reality of a woman who gasped and tilted her hips for _him_, and not just because it felt good.

She turned her head toward him, eyes glazed over with dreamy lust. Or maybe it was love. Those two sentiments forever seemed entangled in her mind, whereas he drew a clean line between the two.

He teased her for a while, with just the ends of his fingers, never quite going where she needed him to. By the time he felt his cock grow hard again, she had her bottom lip between her teeth and he thought she might draw blood. Hap chuckled as he moved up onto his hands and knees over her. He pinched each of her nipples in turn. "Roll over, baby."

For just a moment, one heartbeat, the light in her eyes changed. Her face went slack. But then she twisted around onto her stomach and curled her lower legs up so that her ass was in the air for him. He passed the callused palm of his hand over the letters inked into the small of her back – his name – and leaned down low to nip at her neck as he entered her.

When she whimpered, his mind went to her face just a moment before. She'd seemed…disappointed.

**-O-**

"I'm gonna put the towels in the hall closet," Maggie called.

Ava nodded to herself as she held the front door open for Juice.

"She's _helping_?" he asked with a chuckle, hefting the slim cardboard box again and carrying it into the house.

"Bunches. You shoulda heard her the day we moved in. She actually tried to order a HAZMAT suit online."

"No shit?" He stood in the middle of the living room, taking a cursory glance around. "It looks better than it did."

And it did. The walls had all been patched and painted and Hap had enlisted one of their mechanic's help in laying new carpet in the living room. The kitchen was still a mess, and the bed was still just a mattress and box spring, but they were making a creeping sort of progress: it seemed that every day there were fewer eyesores, the overall smell of the place was improving – though maybe she'd just become used to the musty, mildew stink that she'd picked up on during that first walk through.

"What'd you bring me?" she asked in a voice that sounded a little strange in her ears – it sounded very much like her teenage self: giddy and quick to laugh and still optimistic.

Juice grinned. He'd laid the box flat on the floor and was slicing through the tape around the edges with the hunting knife he always wore on his belt. "Who said it was for you? I went to a lot of trouble to get this."

"You mean it just 'fell off a truck' into your hands."

His smile widened. "I'll never tell." Beneath the cardboard and a thin strip of protective foam wrapping, a new flat screen TV was waiting. "It's not huge," he said as if it were an apology ", but it'll do."

"It's perfect." The TV she'd taken to school with her had been broken in the move back. She hadn't realized just how many evenings she and Hap had spent in front of the tube until it wasn't there, and then the post-dinner hours had become filled with either sex, or silence.

"Where you want it?"

She couldn't help it, her mind went straight to the gutter and she snorted a laugh before she could check herself. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand at his inquiring look and shook her head, but it was too late.

He caught on with a twitch of his eyebrows. "Really?" he laughed. "Are you a twelve-year-old boy?"

"Sometimes I think so," she admitted. "Okay, sorry, back to serious." She indicated the wall opposite the old suede sectional sofa they'd lugged back from Sacramento. "I think over there. I think there's room to eventually put in some shelves around it. A little DIY entertainment center."

He regarded the couch a moment. "That fuckin' thing…I almost broke my hand trying to get that piece of shit up the stairs in Sacramento."

She smiled at the memory of moving day.

"Yeah, you think it's funny."

"I didn't say I did! You just like to make me feel guilty -,"

"Hey, Juice." Maggie had popped back into the living room and her greeting startled Ava, so much so that she leapt backward away from Juice. Almost as if she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Which was ludicrous, because what had she been doing? Laughing? She was allowed to laugh.

Her mother had her brows raised in a curious look. "Jeez, Mom," her heart fluttered against her ribs. Which was ten different kinds of stupid. "You scared me."

"I can see that."

If Juice had noticed the odd behavior, he ignored it, was pulling the hardware he'd need to hang the TV out of the bag he'd brought. "Hey, Mags."

"Oh, Hap have you bring the TV?" she asked. She came to investigate but, Ava noticed with an uncomfortable twittering in her stomach, her mother's eyes never left her.

**-O-**

"Doctor Knowles, there's someone here to see you."

Tara had legally changed her last name, but she had retained her maiden name at work. If nothing else, it enabled her to fly a little under the radar. There were patients in Charming who'd be skeptical of a doctor who was a Teller.

"Thanks, Louise," she said absently, taking off from the nurses' station while trying to fill out a chart. She'd become quite adept at walking and writing simultaneously. Some of the more recent developments in town had increased the patient traffic through St. Thomas, and she worked late more than she didn't: eating and talking and handling business on the fly.

She brushed the loose strands of her ponytail back behind her ears as she rounded the corner in a subconscious gesture, expecting Jax or Gemma to be waiting for her. But she was more than a little startled to find Happy parked in a chair, watching nurses and orderlies pass with those dark, scrutinizing eyes she found so creepy. Tara gave herself a moment to collect her wits, then cleared her throat. "Hi, Happy."

His head swiveled around like that of some predatory bird. He didn't smile. "Hey, doc." When he got to his feet, she took note of the way he pushed off with his right leg – his good leg – and the left was used for balance only. "I wanted to ask a favor." His voice had always reminded her of a far-off storm approaching: the rumble of thunder that warned of the destruction to come.

She glanced over her shoulder to check for eavesdroppers. "Sure. But we should walk. The walls have ears."

He only limped the first step out of the gate, and then he took up a normal pace beside her as they started down the hall. A small, anxious voice piped up in the back of her head, inquiring as to why Happy of all people would have been chosen as the club's ambassador for a favor when Jax could have just asked her at home, but she squashed it down, reminding herself again that this was one of Jax's brothers, and that she should help him in any way she could. Though the thought of this particular brother needing help left her throat a little dry.

"Is this about the club and the…" she lowered her voice to just above a whisper, hugging the chart to her chest "…feds?"

"Nah. This is just for me."

She didn't know if that was reassuring or twice as alarming.

"I need a 'script," he said without further preamble. "Pain meds."

Tara halted, which caused him to do so also, and she felt a professional frown crimp her brow as she studied the tattooed enforcer. She'd written him a prescription for oxy a good six months back, but he hadn't come to her since. And from what little Ava had been willing to divulge, he wasn't going to physical therapy and had refused to have his knee examined by the orthopedist again. "How bad's the pain?"

He gave a noncommittal facial shrug.

"Happy, you could be doing further damage to the joint and the meds will only mask the -,"

"Can you write me one or not?" He wasn't rude, didn't call her names or make any threats, but an icy little finger traced a chill down her spine anyway. He didn't strike her as the type to make threats or name call; she had a feeling there wasn't any warning when he decided he was done listening.

_Stop asking questions, _Jax had told her once. And though that lesson had never stuck where it concerned her husband, Tara knew there were other Sons not to be pressed. "Yeah," she said against her better judgment, after a long pause. "Let me get my pad in my office."

"Thanks," he offered a somewhat-pleasant expression that wasn't a true smile. "And better keep this between us. Ava don't need to know."

**-O-**

"No you didn't."

"I did," Ava insisted, taking another sip of her beer. "And then I dared him to fail me and walked out of the classroom."

"So what happened?"

"He failed me."

Juice had still been setting up the TV and making sure it was connected to the cable hookups and that the DVD player worked and so forth when Maggie had been forced to return to T-M to man the desk. She'd given Ava a look that she didn't really want to decipher before she'd told Juice goodbye in an overly loud way and let herself out. But once she was gone, all the strange, unreasonable guilt and awkwardness had vanished. She wasn't doing anything inappropriate, by any means. So she'd seen no harm in accepting the Wii console he hadn't wanted anymore, nor in playing a game or two of virtual bowling. The bag of Tostitos and jar of store bought salsa on the kitchen table between them now had seemed totally natural, as was the offer of a beer. And Ava had realized, with a bit of a shock, just how much she missed spending time with the goofy intelligence officer.

"It's a miracle you even graduated," Juice said, shaking his head. He reached into the bag of chips and pulled another handful out onto the paper towel that was serving as a plate.

"I know," she agreed. "I blame it on my white trash upbringing."

He smiled. He did that a lot – smiled, laughed, joked – even at his own expense sometimes. Wow, she really had missed Juice.

"So what's the plan now?"

She got butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it. "I've been on three interviews with Brightside Publishing now. They said they were gonna make a decision in the next week or so and let me know one way or the other."

He gave her one of those looks like her mother always gave her – the encouraging look. "That's great."

She felt a wide smile spread across her face. "It kinda is, isn't it?"

He nodded and then pushed back his chair, wiping the crumbs off his fingers onto his T-M work shirt as he stood. "I better get back. Jax is gonna ream my ass for being away this long."

Ava checked her cell phone and nearly gasped when she realized they'd killed almost four hours. "Oh damn. Sorry I kept talking. Tell Jax it was my fault."

"Nah. It was fun."

And it had been. She was already feeling a sigh bubble up inside her at the knowledge that she was about to be alone again. She stood and rolled up the Tostitos bag, carried it and the little bowl of salsa to the counter while Juice shrugged back into his cut. "We should do it again," she said and wasn't sure why she did. She was an Old Lady now, and Old Ladies didn't hang out with other Sons for "fun".

After she'd run water into the bowl, she became aware that the room was silent. Juice was still standing by the table and she could feel him watching her, the fine hairs on her arms rising at the knowledge that she was under someone's scrutiny.

"Ava." When she turned around and leaned back against the counter, she saw that he'd ducked his head down so they were on eye level, those big brown eyes staring straight into hers from across the table. "Are you doing okay?"

She felt like she'd been slapped. Her arms folded together across her chest defensively. "Of course I am."

But his mouth twitched to the side. "You just…you haven't seemed all that happy and -,"

"I'm perfectly happy!" she hadn't intended for the words to come out so shrill. Whatever was bubbling up inside her, she pretended it was anger. Indignation. "You –you're not even supposed to notice," she sputtered. Which was exactly what she hadn't meant to say. "I'm fine. Fantastic. And…and…it's none of your business even if I wasn't. Which I am! I'm fine."

"Yeah, you said that." He shook his head, but before she could launch into another babbling fit, Juice held up his hands in defeat and backed away. "See ya around." His tone was hard now, not the normal, friendly voice he always used when he spoke to her.

When he was gone, Ava sagged back against the counter and pulled in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," she said to the empty room.

**-O-**

_Ten…nine…eight…_Agent Holt counted backward silently, concentrating on not snapping the pen between his fingers in half. He was seeing a new department shrink about his temper – they'd said he had "rage issues" – and so far it wasn't doing much good. When he heard a light one-two rap at the door, he barked ", come in," with little restraint.

Just the sight of her was enough to set his blood boiling. June Stahl was as flawlessly put together as always: her hair a shimmering, coppery mane down her back, her suit gray and crisp, flattering to her slim figure. The carefully concocted innocence in her eyes made him sick to his stomach. "You wanted to see me?" she helped herself to one of the two chairs across from his desk.

"I just got off the phone with Charming PD."

"Oh. How'd that go?"

"You know exactly how that went," he said, glowering at her, wishing he had telekinetic powers to set the bitch on fire. "Chief Hale has quote, 'reason to believe', that our killers were involved in a local drug ring. Said he's 'investigating further' into the matter."

The smallest of smiles touched her lips. "Did he now?"

He was seething by this point. "You told me to rattle Ava Telford's cage. And that was a goddamn dead end."

"When did I tell you to do that?"

"You said 'the girl'. Said she was the weak link. The one with the most to lose."

"And you thought that meant second generation SAMCRO royalty?" She pursed her lips. "I was talking about Holly Jessup. Which girl did you think I meant?"

"Get out! Get the fuck outta my office!"

Stahl stood, straightened her jacket, and offered him a mock curtsy. Her lips curled in a self-satisfied sneer. "With pleasure."

**TBC**


	23. Chapter 23

Ava was awake…but not really. Still floating in the twilight between full consciousness and sleep. She liked that place; it was a good one. In that place, she still didn't have to be up for work – her paid internship had turned out not to be the stuff of dreams – and the dirty dishes in the kitchen could wait, she didn't have to get back to Gemma about the biker blood drive she was supposed to be helping with. No, here she could still rest between the cool sheets and listen to the quiet sounds Happy made as he moved around the kitchen. He had a glass of grapefruit juice every morning before his shower and she tried to have some sort of edible food on a plate and waiting for him before he left for the garage. Which always put her behind and she usually got to work with wet hair twisted up into a hasty knot. But hey, whatever.

She tightened her grip on her pillow as she heard Hap come down the hall in his bare feet, knowing that her stolen moment of rest was almost at an end. Pale, blue fingers of light were seeping in through the blinds, cold but sharp against her eyelids. The day had come, and even though she screwed up her face, it was here to stay. And Hap was on his way to the shower, she could hear his footfalls across the new oatmeal carpet of the bedroom now, could hear him breathing. With a little sigh, she started to push down her covers…

Only to gasp when they were yanked away. Her eyes flipped open and she had only a moment to process that Hap was standing at the foot of the bed, grinning like she hadn't seen in months, before he had a hold of her ankle and was pulling her down across the mattress.

"Hap!" she protested, half-delighted, half-shocked, completely willing when he picked her up under her arms. She had her legs wrapped around his waist as she asked, "what the hell?"

_His leg, _she worried a moment, but he looped an arm around her hips, strong as he held her to him. His grin was wicked, sent a welcome shiver across her suddenly-flushed skin. "Shut up," he said good-naturedly. "You know you like it."

And she did. She so did, opening her mouth hungrily when he kissed her, her hands finding the lean, hard column of his throat. His leg was forgotten when he started walking, easily at that, carrying her as she clung to him. Clothes were ripped off and the shower turned on in a frenzy of tangled limbs. The water was still cold when he dragged her beneath it, and she yelped a laugh that turned into a groan when he backed her up against the wall beneath the spray and kissed her again. She loved when he kissed her like this, when she felt his tongue against all the little corners of her mouth, when she couldn't catch her breath and he wouldn't back off, those unrelenting kisses that made her dizzy. His hands moved over her breasts and down her hips, between her legs. When he cupped her ass and picked her up again, she wound her arms around his neck for support. The water became warm, hot, steaming as it coursed across his shoulders and the carved swells of his chest, running down both their stomachs.

"Oh," she whimpered as he slid inside her. Ava laid her cheek alongside his temple and dug her nails into his shoulders, overcome with the dual sensations of his cock inside her, and the almost-foreign intimacy of it all. They fucked routinely, but this…she closed her eyes, the sound of rushing water in her ears, every movement of his body against hers becoming ingrained in her memory. "I need this," she said before she could stop herself. "I really do."

He nuzzled at her neck with lips and teeth and it felt like he said _I know. _And he did. Underneath the tension and disconnect of the past year, they had a basic, wordless communication, and she felt it come back to them. Even if it was only for this moment, this morning, in the shower, she felt time and stress melt away, and they were just them, alone in the life they had together.

The day had become butter-yellow and bright by the time Ava stretched out beside him on their bed – it was a real bed now with posts and a dust ruffle and everything. They were both going to be late and her hair was still wet around her shoulders. But that didn't seem to matter at the moment. She ran the tips of her fingers down the supple, soap-smelling skin of his abdomen, through the grooves of his abs, down to trace the smiley faces above his hip. She loved his ink, but those had always been her favorite. His commitment to the club, this life.

"Hap?"

He had an arm propped behind his head, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Smoking. "Hmm?"

"Can we do this again? As in…a lot?"

He chuckled, the sound deep and dark. It was a comforting sound, one she'd known since childhood. Even her mother seemed to twitch a bit when he laughed, but Ava loved it, was even more at ease hearing it. She dropped her elbow and settled against his side, fingers skimming back up to his chest. The moment felt so rare and perfect that she couldn't help it. "I love you."

Hap didn't like mushy stuff, he didn't even profess his feelings – not because he thought it was more manly to refrain, he just wasn't that guy. But she knew his silence was answer enough. And when she felt his hand brush through her hair, she smiled.

**Three Weeks Later**

"Do you need more bacon?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Holly stood against the counter, trying to stay as unobtrusive as possible, as she watched what felt like a very rare glimpse into the Morales home life. Which, she thought with a bit of an internal smile, was hypocritical if she reflected on Tig at home. Happy was at the table in their yet-to-be-redone kitchen, eating breakfast, Ava flitting back and forth, now putting the skillet in the sink. She'd always said she couldn't cook, but she'd managed bacon and biscuits with jelly for her Old Man. Holly saw the PowerBar sticking out of her back jeans pocket and knew that Ava sacrificed her own breakfast, instead focusing on Happy. She could relate.

"Okay, well, I told Gem I'd be over at ten, so Holly and I are gonna head that way…" Ava left the statement open, twisting away from the sink so she could watch her man's reaction.

He nodded and she returned to her dishes, making fast work of them. Holly waited while Ava grabbed her purse and keys, stole a kiss from Happy, and then led the way down the back steps to the driveway.

It was a warm morning shaping up to be a hot day and both of them were in tank tops. Holly had been sure to park her Camaro in the gravel turn-around to leave room for the truck and bike to leave. She and Ava had decided to ride together when they went to set up the blood drive tables to both save gas, and, though both of them had been hesitant to admit it, they were still running a little skittish after their Taste of Charming gig gone awry the previous fall, so traveling in a team was appealing.

Ava's truck was full of after-market upgrades: seats, sound system, GPS. When she cranked the engine, hardcore rap blared from the speakers, the whole truck rattling, and she quickly turned it down. "Sorry. My truck was always the guinea pig for whatever new techno-shit Juice wanted to play around with."

Holly nodded, distracted. She was comparing Ava's morning routine with Happy to her own with Tig. And wishing that what she'd said to Tig – about the two of them never having what Happy and Ava had – wasn't true. She stared out the deeply tinted window as Ava backed out onto the street and then slid the truck into gear, the engine growling.

It was a Saturday and Charming was busy with the usual foot traffic: shoppers and joggers and parents with kids on the way to whatever kind of practice they had that morning. It was an amazing realization now and then to see that the town was unaffected by the problems of the MC, to see families untouched by the worry, the stress and violence, to know there were lunches and dinners never interrupted by federal agents or rival organizations. Holly had stopped wondering long before she'd become involved with the Sons what it must be like to belong to one of those families.

"You're quiet."

Ava's voice startled her and she faced forward, reaching to fiddle with her seatbelt in a nervous gesture she couldn't seem to resist. "Yeah," she said lamely. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ava's hands on the wheel, trying to decide if today was a good day or a bad day, or whether it was wise to entrust Happy's Old Lady with her latest concern. "Um…"

"Oh, just say it. Whatever it is, I won't tell anyone."

When Holly glanced over, she took note of the relaxed set of the girl's shoulders, the casual way she reached up to adjust her shades with a knuckle. It felt safe. Which had always been a sensation that gave her the cold chills…but she took a deep breath and decided that though there were a lot of things she could never share, this she could. This she, for some reason, needed to.

"I've been getting weird phone calls the past week," she said. "At the house, from an unlisted number that doesn't show up on caller ID."

"So Tigger sprung for caller ID, huh?"

"Six months ago."

"Sorry. Strange calls. Got it."

Holly felt stupid as she said it, but pressed on anyway. "Maybe it's nothing…but whoever it is, they don't say anything and hang up after about a minute."

"Hmm." Ava tapped her fingers along the wheel, checking over her shoulder before she changed lanes and pulled up to the next red light. "What time of day?"

"Usually in the evenings, before I head to work and when Tig isn't around." The first night, she'd chalked it up to a wrong number. By the fifth time, she'd had goose bumps tingling up her arms. She'd almost told Tig, had started the sentence with ", something weird…" and then had trailed off, unable to finish. The way Ava chewed at her lip in a thoughtful way told her she'd probably been correct in keeping it from him. But at the same time, she felt as if she'd betrayed him.

"I think someone's fucking with you," Ava said. "Trying to psyche you out."

She was almost afraid to ask. "You think it could be…"

"Agent Fuckface? Absolutely. I mean, maybe not him, per say, but the feds for sure."

Holly chewed at a ragged nail – her cherry red manicure had been ruined over her worry. "Ava, I thought…after the false statement I gave to Charming PD…Jax said…"

"Hey." Ava faced her fully, glancing over the tops of her shades. "Not to freak you out even more, but just because Jax says something, it doesn't make it so. There is no such thing as letting your guard down around here. Even when things are going well – and they are = doesn't mean shit won't get stirred up again."

"I know, I know," Holly sighed.

"It'll be okay, though. Just stick with your story 'cause they don't have anything to charge you with." She paused. "Right?"

**-O-**

One of the party rooms at the rec center looked like a Civil War hospital – donors in chairs being attended by hospital staff and volunteers. St. Thomas was responsible for all the blood collection and transport, they were the ones putting on the drive, but with SAMCRO as the official sponsor, otherwise apathetic members of the community had been drawn in by the mystique of the club and the three dozen batches of Gemma's cookies that were used to perk up blood sugar after donating. The guys had their bikes out along the street, capturing the attention of passersby, a responsible, law-abiding function that was very public and very positive for the MC's image. Inside, Tara was acting as liaison between bikers and medical personnel, and Ava was working the front table with Holly, checking names and records, getting signatures.

"Any tattoos or piercings in the past six months?" Holly asked her as she checked off the requisite boxes on Ava's personal waiver. The business of the blood drive seemed to have perked her back up, had taken her mind off the odd phone calls.

"No and no," she answered, already rolling up her sleeve of the jacket she'd been forced to put on thanks to the overzealous AC.

"Any chance you could be pregnant?"

"Nope."

"Okay then." Holly passed the clipboard over and Ava signed in the designated box, using her _real _last name instead of Hap's the way she sometimes did. They'd had her name changed back when the Irish were still an issue, but she'd slowly let the M turn back into a T until she was Ms. Telford again. Still, as she handed the pen back, she felt that familiar clench of longing in her belly. She wanted his last name. Craved it. And mornings like she'd been having lately made it very hard to remember that she was only his Old Lady in the eyes of the club. "I think you'll be with -,"

"Me." Tara had materialized in front of their table. She was snapping on latex gloves and had a pressure band under one arm, pockets lined with fresh needles and alcohol swabs. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." She was suddenly nervous as she stood and followed the doc over to one of the stations – which was really just a couple of folding chairs grouped together. One of the guys, Ope maybe, had cracked a joke about Tig keeping his girl away from said chairs before the townies had started coming in. The mental image of Holly standing over the unconscious blonde sweetbutt popped into Ava's head as she sat and rolled up her sleeve. If nothing else it distracted her from the process of having the pressure cuff puffed up around her bicep until her whole arm turned numb. The numbness did not, however, hide the bite of the needle.

_Generosity is a good thing, _she reminded herself one more time as she watched Tara's expert, gloved fingers guide the need to the inside of her left elbow. She inhaled on the puncture as the needle went into the dark blue vein that ran just beneath the surface of her skin. It hurt like a bitch, worse than the tattoo needle ever had, which she found ironic – the selfish act of permanently inking names and flowers onto her body was less of a sacrifice than a pint of blood.

She was feeling generous though, however out of character that was. As her blood ran up the plastic tube, down into the collection bag were it trickled in slow crimson fingers, she reflected on Hap's generosity over the past month. It wasn't so much that there was a major shift in his humor, that he'd become "happier" all of a sudden – he was still very much the same man he'd always been – but he woke her up more mornings than he didn't with a hand moving over her hip beneath the covers. He was at the kitchen table, waiting for breakfast instead of ducking out while she was in the shower. The previous Sunday he'd detailed her truck until it shone inside and out. It was all the little things, the quiet, subtle shows of affection that others would never notice as extraordinary, but that left her insides feeling like melted butter. Made her smile. Made her feel less guilty about laughing at something Juice had said. Which she didn't, not anymore. She was guilt-free when it came to Juice. At least…she liked to think that was the case.

"This is your first time donating, isn't it?" Tara asked. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." Though watching her blood pool in the bottom of the bag was starting to make her a bit queasy, so she glanced away, up toward the doctor's oddly concerned expression. "Why?"

Tara shook her head, or maybe she didn't, her neck didn't twist, but regardless, her face was swinging back and forth. "You're weaving in your chair. And you've gotten a little pale."

Ava snorted. "I'm Scottish. I'm always pale." She was kind of tired though, if she thought about it. The PowerBar from that morning was a hard bulge in her back pocket. She'd forgotten to eat it, but at least Hap had had a good breakfast…

"Ava." Someone – maybe Tara, yeah, it was Tara – patted her wrist. "Ava? Hey, Jess, grab me some juice for her please."

Juice? What did he have to do with anything? Nothing, that was what. Things with Hap had been so good, better than good. "I don't need him," Ava said, feeling her features compress into a frown.

"Not Juice the person, juice the beverage." Ava felt her eyelids flutter, or maybe Tara's face was just more fucked up than she'd thought. "Oh, okay, yeah…I'm unplugging you. Just hold on a second."

There were blotches now. Big, black, fuzzy blotches. All over everything: on Tara's face and hands as she pulled the needle out. On her own hands when she reached for the blood pressure cuff herself and somehow seemed to grab hold of empty air. Blotches, blotches, blotches…and spinning, so much spinning…

Ava glanced up across the room, her head heavy on her neck, now aware of what was happening to her. She had this instinctual, infantile need to be close to not just a familiar face, but one of two in particular: her mother or her man. But she found neither, instead saw shiny badges and brown uniforms coming through the double doors of the party room.

_Cops._

And then her eyes rolled back in her head and the world fell away to nothing.

**-O-**

Holly didn't understand what was happening. She saw it, watched the four uniformed CPD officers come striding two-wide through the double doors of their rented room, all of SAMCRO clambering after them, saw the man in the suit in their midst, recognized his fat head spilling over the collar of his cheap, starched shirt. _Agent Holt, _she'd thought, and had been rising from her chair, sucking in a deep breath so that she could shout for…anyone…but there had been no need. She'd been aware of the sudden madness of it all: Maggie and Gemma abandoning their posts, Tara calling for help because Ava had collapsed in her chair, Chief Hale trying to push the Sons back out of the way so they wouldn't be slapped into cuffs.

But now she was the one being marched down the hall of the precinct, her hands cuffed behind her back, tears threatening because she just wanted someone to slow down and explain what was happening to her, wanted someone to assure Tig that she hadn't done anything, that she was still just as staunchly loyal as she'd always been. Wanted to make sure her only friend was okay. But the cops had been silent, expressionless sentinels on either side of her as they neared the door of the interrogation room.

Holly took a deep, shaky breath before she allowed them to push her across the threshold. As she'd expected, Holt was behind the room's single, wobbly table, a beat-up chair across from him. She could feel the temperature change, felt goose bumps prickle up her arms. And didn't miss the bottle of Dasani waiting for her. Bastard. She'd die of dehydration before she accepted a shred of hospitality, or let herself get tricked into having a full bladder while she answered pressing questions.

"Welcome, Holly," Holt said with that practiced warmth he'd flaunted during their very first encounter. He looked more ragged than he had before. Tired. She guessed chasing after the club for a year could do that to a person. "Take a seat."

She did, perching on the very edge of the chair. She didn't speak, half afraid she'd start to cry if she did. She clenched her teeth together and thrust out her chin at him, daring him to throw more bullshit theories and escape routes at her. If he thought, after this long and this many failed attempts, he could get her to rat about Tig or his club, let the idiot try one more time.

But he pulled a file out of his briefcase and set it down in front of her, almost smiling as he opened it. A chill went through her when she saw the photo taped to the report inside.

"Not sure if you know this or not, but there's no statute of limitations on murder, Holly. What can you tell me about Agent Matt Harding? Aside from the fact that he was a federal agent."

She glanced up at him, mind seizing in a painful way. She hadn't expected this, not at all.

"Yeah," this time Holt did smile ", no more informants. This is deep shit, honey."

**TBC**


	24. Chapter 24

"Where did they take her? Was it Holt? That son of a bitch -,"

"Ava, you passed out," Tara said, sounding annoyed. She put a not-so-gentle hand on her shoulder and pushed her back against the makeshift cot that was a series of four chairs pushed together. The doc flipped the compress over so the cool side of the washcloth was against Ava's forehead. "Holly is officially not your problem. In fact, here, eat a cookie."

She'd come to on her back, staring up at the garish fluorescent bulbs above, her mother holding a cold cloth to her forehead, a blood pressure cuff around her arm. The room had been spinning, but noticeably devoid of all the bedlam that had accompanied her blackout. The Sons and cops were gone, and she felt like an idiot for having passed the fuck out and missed everything.

She tossed the Nutter Butters that had been thrust into her hand to the floor and lurched upright. The blood drained out of her head in a rush, leaving her numb and temporarily blind, she teetered, grabbed wildly for the backs of the chairs around her.

"Ava," Tara was exasperated.

Hands grabbed her shoulders from behind. "You're gonna black out again," Maggie warned. "You need to eat something, babe."

"No I'm not." But she was, and she knew it. Frustrated with the way her own body was betraying her, she tucked her knees into her chest and put her head between them, pulling in deep breaths until her vision had cleared and her pulse had stopped thumping in her temples. "Goddamn it."

"Calm down, cause you're not going anywhere," Tara said, and this time it sounded like an order.

**-O-**

"Where is she? You bring her out here, assholes!"

Holly closed her eyes and prayed that Tig might actually tap into some as-of-yet-to-be-discovered well of patience. She could hear him through the cheap composite of the interrogation room's door, that loud, nasal shout of his echoing around the inside of the precinct. He was looking for her, and even if all he wanted to do was slap her, she longed to answer him, let him know where she was, that she wasn't saying anything, wanted to plead with him to just settle down before they threw him in a holding cell.

_Please, Tig, _she said silently, her hands coming together in a prayer-like gesture.

"He's a testy one, isn't he?" Agent Holt asked with a little chuckle. "Man like that, a girl learns to do what she's told."

She didn't respond, instead studied her ruined manicure. Gemma had taken her, had grabbed hold of her wrist while she was washing dishes after one of the big club dinners and had shaken her head, made a _tsk_ing sound against her cheek. They'd gone the next day to get their nails done together. She closed her eyes again, listened to Tig cuss the officers beyond the door, and wished like hell for it all to be a dream she was waking up from.

"Not feeling talkative?" he shuffled her file around. "Okay then, I'll tell you a story. You became associated with SAMCRO about a year and a half ago. Well, actually, scratch that. You were admitted to Lodi's West Memorial hospital two years ago, around the time your father died. And I'm gonna make the wild assumption that you and Trager were already associated at that time." He looked so pleased with himself, a dog with a fresh bone. "But a year and a half ago, you came back into town and were questioned by Agent Stahl. Matt Harding was one of the agents working your case with her. So you can imagine that, when he disappeared, we all became a little suspicious. What do you think happened, Holly?" he oozed friendliness. "Scared girl, so desperate to win her biker lover's approval, feds moving in on the club…what do you think that spelled for Agent Harding?"

It had spelled a .38 round between his shoulder blades. Holly still saw him in her nightmares sometimes, saw his legs turn to jelly as he fell, boneless, to the ground at Jax's feet. The Sons had saved her life and she'd saved their necks in return. If given the chance, she'd pull the trigger a thousand times again. But now, she was careful to relax the muscles in her face and shake her head ever so slightly.

"We can talk now," Holt said ", or I can give you twenty-four hours in a cell to think about it. Either way, if Tig thinks you've turned rat, you're a dead woman. I, at least, can pull the death penalty off the table if you'll do something for me in return."

**-O-**

"Tig, go home," Hale said with an exasperated sigh. The Son was standing in the middle of his bullpen, arms folded, silently daring any of the officers to forcibly remove him – and none of them seemed willing. On the up side, he'd stopped yelling, but that didn't mean he could stay.

The biker snorted. "Not goin' anywhere till you let my girl go. She _didn't do anything!"_ the yelling was back, with a vengeance as he hollered the last bit, eyes laser-focused on the door to the interrogation room.

Hale glanced toward the entrance of the precinct and was relieved to see another Son – the blonde one who'd been Charming's football star a few years back: Carter – standing just inside the door. It meant Tig was wanted back at the clubhouse. "Go on," he urged. "You aren't doing anything here but making things worse for her. When Holt cuts her loose, I'll bring Holly back myself."

He didn't like it; shifted his weight and shot him the nastiest, iciest glare. But finally, Tig nodded, just a little, and headed off. "I'm holding you to that," he threatened, but left all the same.

_One problem taken care of…_Hale hitched up his gun belt and knocked on the door of the room Holt was using. When it cracked open and the agent's puffy, red face appeared, Hale beckoned him outside, silent, walking down the hall before he had a chance to protest.

"What's this – shit. Hale…watch her," Holt told one of his underlings and then his heavy footfalls thudded over the carpet. Hale took him down to his office, going around to his desk, leaving the asshole to pull the door shut. "I'm in the middle of an interrogation."

"You're in the middle of some bullshit scheme that isn't gonna land you the Sons."

Holt rolled his shoulders forward into a threatening pose, glowering, red face becoming redder. "You got a lotta goddamn balls. You know how fast I can have your badge? Inbred local son of a -,"

"Keyword being local," Hale interrupted, making a steeple of his hands over his desk. "And I actually give a shit about this town. The last time you guys came crusading through here, you got an innocent woman killed."

"Agent Stahl has been demoted."

"So I heard. But _this_, pulling Old Ladies out of fundraisers, reeks of her."

Holt's knuckles cracked when he balled his fists. "You're getting into dangerous territory, Hale," he warned.

"So are you. Quit going after the women. The only ones who stand to get hurt are them."

**-O-**

"There's nothing you can do to help her, so you might as well quit worrying about it."

"I know."

"So long as the little bitch keeps her mouth shut -,"

"Mom!" Ava hissed as she walked through the pharmacy, tugging down the brim of her Oakland A's hat with her free hand. She seemed to be drawing more attention thanks to the cap and man-sized sweatshirt she was using as a disguise than if she'd been dressed normally. She wished she'd sent a crow eater to fetch what she needed – but that had posed a whole other secrecy problem. "Holly's not gonna…" she checked her wording "…do anything she shouldn't, okay? I trust her."

Maggie snorted from the other end of their cell phone conversation. "We'll see," she sounded doubtful, but quickly switched gears. "Baby, are you sure you don't wanna take Tara up on the offer to check you out? See what's going on with your blood sugar -,"

"I'm fine. I got a snack, end of story." Ava slowed as she drew nearer the locked cabinet near the back of the store. What she was after used to be available for quick snatching along the general aisles, but now, she didn't want her mother hearing her make her request to the pharmacist. "I'll call you in a little while, okay?"

Ava swore she could hear Maggie frowning. "Yeah…okay. Just -,"

"What, Mom?"

"Stop being so bitchy, number one." Ava sighed. "And _be careful_. Love you."

"Love you too." By the time she'd disconnected her phone, the middle-aged man behind the counter had spotted her.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his white coat. "What can I help you with today?"

Ava chewed on her lip and sucked in a quick, fretful breath as she scanned the selections. Two rows beneath the condoms – and wasn't that ironic – were countless boxes, all boasting guaranteed accuracy and ease of use. "I think…" she squatted down, suddenly light-headed again, and tapped the glass ", I'll take one of these."

**-O-**

"If we do it now, it'll send up a red flag to the feds that we were involved."

"Don't see any other way, Jackie-boy," Chibs paused to light his cigarette ", the warehouse is all set up. If we wait, we risk this shit actually takin' hold in Charmin'."

Hap watched his President massage the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. Jax had a history of doing this: all his second thoughts spilling out on the table right before the execution of whatever big plan they'd managed to piece together. Sometimes it was of benefit, made all of them revaluate what they were about to undertake. But on nights like tonight, it was frustrating to watch the man hit that wall in his head, knowing there were no alternatives.

"Hale's pissed about them holding Holly overnight," Opie said.

Bobby nodded. "His hero complex takin' over. He'll be absolutely on board."

Tig stared fixedly at the table, a storm brewing in his head. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wasn't worried about what his girl would say, he just wanted her out.

"I can make the call," Juice offered, helpful as always. "Alvarez's guy gave me his prepay number."

Jax was almost there, Hap could see it, the way his blue eyes shifted around without landing on anyone. He felt his own hands curl up into loose fists, adrenaline already taking hold of him as he ran through the mental list of what this job would entail. His knee felt good – great even – loose and nearly pain-free, and he had a good buzz going, calm, self-assured, sleepy almost, but full of strength. The pills were doing wonders.

Jax exhaled in a deep, tired sound. "Yeah. 'Kay. Juice, you set it up. I'll talk to Hale. Tomorrow it is, boys."

**-O-**

Ava was in the bedroom when he finally made it back to the house, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, on top of the cream-colored quilt she'd just had to have. Hap propped a shoulder in the doorjamb and studied her a moment, took mental stock of her current status. She'd showered, her makeup-free cheeks smooth in the soft glow of the lamplight. Her hair was loose down her back. And there was something oddly elegant about her black leggings and pilfered SOA shirt. She was beautiful, his girl.

When she glanced up at him, he noticed the dark rings under her eyes standing out in stark contrast to her porcelain skin. "Heard you passed out," he prompted.

She shook her head, eyes skipping away from his, retracting into her inner shell. "Just forgot to eat breakfast was all."

He made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat – he'd let that particular issue slide for the time being.

"I heard," she wet her lips and met his gaze again ", they're gonna keep Holly overnight. Hap…she's being held on potential _murder _charges."

He shrugged and moved off from the door. By the time he'd sat down sideways on the bed in front of her, she was biting at already ragged fingernails. He pulled her hand away from her mouth and spots of color bloomed in her cheeks. "Tig says it's bullshit."

"Yeah, but…" she shook her head, hair sliding over her shoulders.

"What?"

She'd left the house that morning a woman, but now she was very much a little girl again. Her eyes were wide, pleading, and she pressed both hands over her stomach. "_My_ murder charges wouldn't be bullshit. What if they know about Fresno, what if -,"

"Hey. They don't know shit about Fresno. You didn't murder nobody."

She wiped at her eyes and it tugged on the odd little paternal heartstrings he didn't understand why he had. He brushed her hand away, cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb swiping away the tears. "What do I always say, huh? I ain't gonna let anythin' bad happen to you."

She leaned into his touch, but released a shaky breath. "It's not me I'm worried about."

**-O-**

There was a man in the cell next to her, a drunk sleeping off his bourbon whose ripe, sour stench was slowly overtaking the holding area until Holly had her nose and mouth pressed into the sleeve of her jacket to keep from gagging. Every time she asked herself the question that everyone in this position must ask themselves – how did I get here? – she always came up with the same concrete answer.

She'd shot a man.

And even though Holt had no evidence, no body, no fibers, no footprints, no areas to canvas, he was _right_ about what had happened to Agent Harding. And it unsettled her, had her teeth chattering and the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Holt was bluffing – he didn't know that she was up to speed on his lack of proof, or that she knew he could only hold her twenty-four hours without charging her with some sort of crime. But it was all starting to feel like too much.

_They'll never stop_.

There had been a time when she wouldn't have cared; when she would have curled up on her cell's cot and waited until someone told her to move. But now…now she had Tig. And this very fragile, tremulous sense of belonging somewhere. Felt a part of a certain group of people for the first time in her life.

She didn't know if God listened to outlaws, but she prayed anyway.

**TBC**


	25. Chapter 25

Ava mopped up the last of the syrup on her plate with another bite of chocolate chip Eggo and popped it in her mouth, eyes rolling back with utter bliss. Dinner the night before had been peanut butter crackers, and by breakfast, she'd been starving, and in dire need of something loaded with sugar. Sunday was her favorite day of the week: Hap didn't have to work and neither did she, breakfast always seemed to bleed into lunch and an afternoon spent writing or reading. Even cleaning house was kind of fun now that it was her house she was cleaning. And they usually tried to make headway on the current reno project.

But this Sunday was different. From the kitchen table with her Eggos and laptop, she could hear Hap in the bedroom; the zipper of a duffel bag, the clicks and snaps of his twin .45s as he checked the clips and slip them into his shoulder holster. Despite her efforts at normalcy, nothing was right. While she'd spent the night curled up next to her man, Holly had been in a cell at the precinct. Held on possible goddamn murder charges. Last night, before Hap had come home, Ava had dug through the contents of one their garbage bags that was already tied up and waiting to be carried to the curb Monday, and had left the cardboard box she'd bought at the pharmacy at the very bottom, where Hap wouldn't see it. If she allowed herself to think about any of that, she'd scream, so instead she squeezed more syrup onto her plate and turned back to the poem she was attempting to write.

"Mornin'," Hap greeted as he came into the kitchen, boots sounding obscenely loud on the floor. Ava's hand froze, hovering over the keys of her laptop, quivering.

But she said ", morning," and shot him a quick smile, pretending he wasn't dressed to do battle. "You going somewhere?"

He nodded, and the duffel bag landed at the back door with a _thud. _Dread filled Ava's stomach again, she just couldn't help it. She'd tried so hard in the past twenty-four hours to suppress it, to tell herself everything was fine, but she didn't know how long she could keep up the façade.

"Is it a run, or…?"

"Nah. Just got somethin' to take care of." His cut was hanging up on a peg by the back door, and he shrugged into it. She could tell, based on the bulkiness of his sweatshirt, that he was wearing his flak vest. A shudder ran through her. "I'll be back for dinner."

"Okay," she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Be careful."

Hap finished adjusting his layers of shirts and then paused, really looked at her for the first time. She was so grateful when he stepped up to her chair, tangled his fingers loosely in the hair at the base of her neck and tipped her head back. His lips lingered over hers a moment when he kissed her, she felt the tip of his tongue run out across them. "Syrup," he said with a little almost smile when he pulled back. He dipped his head to acknowledge their parting, and her worries. "I'll call ya, baby. Maybe we can do pizza tonight."

She nodded, throat tightening as she watched him collect his things and leave. For a moment, with the back door open and the morning light pouring in over him, like heaven's welcoming rays, she was stunned by how beautiful, powerful and terrible he was. _"I know I'm goin' to hell," _he'd told her once, and maybe he was, but he'd always been her angel.

And then he was gone. Ava waited until his bike had fired up and slowly faded down the street before she pushed her plate away, crossed herself with a fluidity that would make her father proud, closed her eyes and prayed.

**-O-**

After ten minutes of cursing and slapping at the coffee maker, Tig gave up and chugged a Red Bull from the fridge. _Rot in hell, motherfucker, _he thought as he glared at the blue and white Coffee Mate contraption that had been so intent on keeping him from the caffeine he needed for the day. The thing always worked for Holly; purred and spit out eight hot cups of coffee without a bit of fuss. That's what he got for letting her buy new things – no coffee, that's what.

Before Holly, his house over on Flagley had been a quiet, silent haven. It had smelled kind of weird. Like mold and spilled liquor. But it had been so peaceful; his little lair when he needed to slink away from the clubhouse and all its madness, when the noise in his head got too loud to allow any room for rational thought.

But last night, it had been too quiet. This morning too. He wasn't even sure why he hadn't stayed in his dorm room. Because he hadn't slept all that well. And now his morning was shitty, which wasn't the way he wanted to head into the day's activities.

"I'm leaving," he announced as he twisted the knob on the back door. And then he stopped, waiting, realizing that no one was going to say ", okay," in a bright, chirpy little voice and ask him if he'd be by for dinner.

The place was too fucking _quiet_.

He slammed the door on his way out.

**-O-**

"Holly."

She started awake, and instantly regretted it when her neck and back seized up. She was one big crick; stiff and sore. She pushed herself up to a sitting position on the cut with a curse and a wince. Though she'd been determined to stay alert, she'd fallen asleep, curled up on her side in the fetal position at some point, and it took several slow, painful moments to stretch her legs out and set her boots on the ground. She blinked against the bright light that was streaming through the bars of her holding cell and saw someone standing at her door.

"Sorry to startle you." It was Chief Hale, a steaming Styrofoam cup in his hands, looking as spit-shined as always.

"Oh. No, s'okay," she mumbled, scraping at her hair. She must look terrible. And she might have even drooled in her sleep, she realized as she wiped at her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket.

"Brought you some coffee."

Tig would have told her to be suspicious of a cop's – any cop's – actions at this point, but Hale, for as much as he hated the club, was completely transparent. He pitied the women tied to the Sons, had this need to look after them, like they were all abused dogs he'd toss table scraps to. And really, the thought and smell of the coffee was too strong to resist regardless. She stood gracelessly and accepted the offered cup through the bars, wrapping her hands around it with a grateful sigh. He'd put too much sugar in it, but the first sip was heavenly.

"Thanks."

He was staring at her, eyes sad. "How'd you sleep?"

She took another sip, the warmth spreading through her stiff body. "How do you think?" Holly was not in the mood for the poor-little-victim routine this morning. She was only so good of an actress, and at this point, her nerves were scraped raw.

Hale nodded and glanced away. "Point taken." He put his hands on his hips, demeanor shifting, becoming more professional. "Holt can keep you for a full twenty-four hours if he wants to, but I'm gonna send you home soon. He's done with questions and I have a feeling I'm gonna need this cell later on." He, unlike her, had few acting skills, that or he wanted her to draw some sort of meaning from the pointed look he gave her. "I gotta head out, but I'll have my officer drop you off at the Morrow house."

**-O-**

"She can't stay here," Gemma said, folding her arms in a pose that brooked no arguments. Ava, however, was still so damn tired she chose to ignore that fact.

"Fine, then she can come back to my place. Or home. Gem, she's not a kid who needs watching."

"I'm not gonna go anywhere," Holly piped up, trying to be helpful.

The queen's dark eyes slid over to her, and then flicked back, clearly not swayed. She was standing with a shoulder propped against the threshold between her kitchen and dining room where Ava and Holly were sitting. Ava stirred her coffee and pretended to take a sip every now and then, bone-weary over Gemma's insistence not only that she needed to come over, but that now Holly was some sort of abandoned puppy whose fate they needed to determine. Clay was in the kitchen, eating breakfast, wise in his avoidance of the whole mess. And hanging above all of them was the cloud of uncertainty that pertained to the boys and whatever the hell they were doing that day.

"Gem," Maggie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had dark circles under her eyes and Ava knew her mother had spent a sleepless night fretting. "Hiding her away will only piss off the feds. And make her look guilty."

"She_ is _guilty!"

Holly ducked her head.

"But they don't have any evidence," Ava said.

Sturdy and unwavering up until this point, Gemma heaved a sigh and came around the table, lowering herself into one of her twelve ladder-backed chairs with a grimace. "That don't matter," she said in a tired voice. "That asshole's been slammin' his head against a wall for a year now. He's getting desperate, his bosses are lookin' to pull him off the case. He's gotta come up with something solid and he's not gonna be picky about getting it." She glanced down the table at Holly. "Evidence or not, if he thinks he can pin some trumped up charges on you, come up with some bogus statement about his informants…" she blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. "It's bullshit is what it is. But you, Holly, are the one whose arm he thinks he can twist the hardest. Get you to confess to something to keep Tig outta the crosshairs, then he'll hit us with RICO charges and throw both your asses in jail."

"We get that, Gem," Maggie said. "But where do you propose she go?"

Holly looked absolutely miserable: guilty and sorry and overall terrified that this was somehow all her fault. When really, Ava thought with a sickening lurch in her belly, it was all _her_ fault. If she'd let the thing with Hap and the crow eater slide, if she hadn't been so jealous…

"Just let Holly stay with me," she said, earning a grateful look from Tig's girl. "She's not responsible for any of this and, and…we'll keep it low profile, she won't leave the house."

Gemma shook her head in the negative. "It's too close. Gotta be the cabin."

"The cabin's not safe anymore," Clay's voice startled them all. He was in the threshold, coffee mug in hand, just as imposing as when he'd been the one with the President patch sewn onto his cut. "Feds know it's where we'd go, too risky if the girl really needs to disappear for a little while."

"We got no options," Gemma fired back, but then cut off whatever else she'd wanted to say when he gave her a sharp look.

They all waited, Ava twitching in her seat, feeling like they were all a bunch of children who'd been caught sneaking behind their parents' backs. Jax had asked them to stash Holly, and so far, they hadn't done a damn thing but drink coffee and snap at one another.

"Paulette," Clay said, and locked eyes with Ava. "She's totally off the radar. And Holly'll be safe there."

Gemma and Maggie both nodded, frowns slowly melting. "That's not bad," Maggie said.

Clay snorted. "It's the best we're gonna do on short notice."

Ava wanted to throw up. She knew what was coming next, was prepared when every set of eyes swung in her direction, she'd have to be the liaison between Paulette and the club, would have to take Holly there herself. But knowing didn't make the thought of it any better. "Paulette hates me," she groaned. "I mean really, truly, wishes-I'd-die hates me."

"The cranky old bitch doesn't have to like you," Gemma said ", she just needs to cooperate."

"I'll come along. And we'll take the prospect," Clay told her. "I think he's still at the clubhouse."

**-O-**

Holly glanced in the side mirror of Gemma's Escalade again and saw that pretty-boy Carter was still tailing them on his bike, scanning the surrounding area just like he was supposed to. He had seemed more than a little nervous to have been charged with escorting the two of them to their destination just outside of Oakland. And really, Holly was more than a little surprised that they'd been allowed to go with only one escort. But all the Sons had been unreachable, and if all the Old Ladies had gone together, it would have aroused suspicion. So Ava was driving, Clay riding shotgun, and Holly sat beside a hastily-packed duffel bag of her things in the plush backseat.

"So," Holly began ", this is Happy's aunt I'm going to be staying with? Right?" She'd caught the word during their departure, but no one had told her outright.

She thought Clay twitched a grin, though it was Ava who answered on a sigh. "Yeah. His mom Noelle's younger sister. Noelle was a sweetie, but this one, real hardass. I've only been around her a couple of times, but neither were what you could call good."

"Maybe you shoulda hit her with that Telford charm," Clay said, sarcastic.

"Yeah, Dad's the only friggin' Telford with any charm."

**-O-**

"I'll wait in the car," Clay said, settling his gun on his thigh.

"Thanks." Ava popped her door open and gave him a hateful look as she slid out into the bright afternoon sun.

"You gals have a nice chat now."

_Asshole, _she thought as she shut his face from view behind the door and waited for Holly to join her.

The house looked much the same as it had the last time: a pale blue that verged on gray, thick drapes in the windows, a yard that could have been cute, but instead was a little on the shabby side. Dozens of terracotta pots lined the front walk, some of the flowers in them flourishing, others dead or dying, all of the colors incongruous. Pinks and reds and blues and oranges, all of them clashing. A concrete statue of a little boy with a picnic basket was nestled among the azaleas at the base of the concrete stoop. A chain link fence separated the neighboring properties, and an aggressive mongrel of a dog was throwing himself against it off to their left, snarling at the newcomers.

"Nice house," Holly said, her tone overly polite as she shouldered her bag and stepped up beside Ava.

"You don't have to lie. She hates lying too."

Carter followed them up to the door, conspicuous as hell the way he cracked his knuckles. Ava knew he was being voted in next week – well, maybe – and he wanted so badly not to screw this up.

"You can wait out here," Ava told him at the bottom of the steps. "Hopefully this won't take too long." But she knew it would, could feel it with certainty as she climbed up to the glass storm door and pressed the bell, studied the peeling blue paint of the wooden door beyond it. A grapevine wreath was hung above the knocker, a wooden placard carved with the words _In God We Trust _strung up within the oval, silk flowers serving as garnish. She took a deep breath, and then let it out in a startled rush when the latch clicked.

Paulette Lowman had her sister's eyes, and that was where the similarities ended. Noelle had been leggy and busty and brunette – Hap had shown her pictures that had made Ava's heart ache for the withered, wrinkled woman with the head scarf she'd found in the hospice bed – whereas Paulette was long-waisted, red-headed, and her pinched face was creased with sun and frown lines, dark freckles over her nose and bare shoulders. The white tank top, sweatpants and rubber garden clogs she was wearing did nothing to enhance what Mother Nature had graced her with, and boy did it need some enhancing. Her green eyes narrowed to slits when she recognized Ava through the storm door. "You."

"Hey, Paul," Ava offered, trying to scrape together some politeness. "How've you been doing?"

Politeness was wasted. "Fine, up till now. If you're here, I'm guessing my day's about to turn to shit." She opened the wooden door wide and retreated back into the foyer, waving at them with annoyance.

Ava traded a fast look with Holly, saw the other woman's wide eyes. "It's fine. She's just gotta bitch at me for a little while before she agrees."

**-O-**

Tig had heard the shot, and had done an about-face in the hallway, had punched through the door back into the stairwell with Chibs on his heels. Hale had arrived late, he and his deputies sending the Mexican dealers scattering like so many roaches beneath a flashlight. Tig suspected, with an inward curse, that the Chief had done it on purpose. He wasn't Unser, he couldn't let the Sons help him capture and interrogate the "murderers", and now they were all going to get away. And someone had fired a shot three floors down.

His gun was already in his hand and he brought it up, hands still as he jogged down the steps, leading with his weapon, eyes sweeping every corner of the shadowy, concrete stairwell.

One floor down, he heard someone calling for help.

Two floors down, he saw the door that led out into the hallway swinging shut, but kept going, down and down toward the hysterical, screaming voice.

He recognized Juice's head first; the stripe of his mohawk and his lightning bolts. He was on his knees, bent over, shoulders bare because he'd taken his shirt off, in just his flak vest with the white bundle of his shirt in his hands pressed against the side of the man sprawled lifeless in front of him. The kid might as well have been yelling in Spanish for all the sense he was making. There was blood up to his elbows. When he glanced up at the sounds of their boots on the concrete, his eyes were white and brown vacuous craters in his face, huge and terrified and showed no signs of recognition.

"Mother of Christ," Chibs hissed behind him.

Tig stowed his gun. "Goddamn, Hap…"

**-O-**

"Where's Sam?"

Ava refused to sit down at the kitchen table. The house was worn and tattered, adorned with thrift store furniture, none of it matching, but it was spotless. Whatever else Paulette was, she was fastidious. She hated clutter and dirt and mess – much like her nephew in that respect – so the table was polished to a shine and its white farmhouse chairs had been refinished, but the chilly vibes that rolled off Paulette had Ava backed up against the fridge, arms around her middle in a not-so-unconscious protective gesture. Holly was seated, staring at her chipped red nail polish, doing her best to disappear.

"He's busy," Ava said. "Otherwise he'd be here. I'm just the club emissary today."

Paulette, clearly not satisfied with the answer, stubbed her cigarette out in the teacup saucer she was using as an ashtray and pushed up from the table, taking the saucer to the sink to rinse the ashes away. "I do favors for my nephew," she said over her shoulder. "I don't belong to the Sons. They ain't my problem."

Ava nibbled at her lower lip, willing herself some patience. Her hand, as if on its own, smoothed over the front of her jeans. Her belly was flat, her figure unchanged, but it helped ease the knot of tension between her shoulder blades. When she glanced up, Holly was staring at her, or, more accurately, the place where her hand had been. _Busted. _She ignored the look, instead fixated on the messy red bun at the back of Paulette's head. "Hap lives for -,"

"_Sam_."

"_Sam_ lives for his club. If you help the club, you're helping him." Ava scowled. "Don't worry, no one will think you did it for _me_."

She whirled around, a freckled finger aimed at Ava's chest from across the room. "Little smartass. You're damn right it's not for you!"

"I'm not trying to be a smartass, I just -,"

"You friends with her?" Paulette asked Holly, interrupting.

Holly looked stricken, a doe in headlights, but she swallowed and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Paulette snorted. "Eighteen. Sam tells me he's finally settled down and got himself a steady girl and she's _eighteen_! That ain't a woman, that's a goddamn kid! He coulda gone to jail over her!"

"Paul."

She turned her blazing green eyes to Ava again. "You know it's true. But you don't care, do you? You're just diggin' for gold."

"Oh my God, what gold? There's no fucking gold!"

"Guys," Holly said, pushing her chair back. "Look, maybe this is a bad idea. Ava, just take me somewhere else. I'll stay in a hotel, or…or…under a bridge. Whatever." Her head swiveled between the two women who were squared off from one another on opposite sides of the table. She sighed. "Damn, why all the bad blood?"

Ava had wanted to like Hap's aunt, really she had. She'd liked Noelle so much, had seen how much she meant to her son. But Paulette had never given her so much as a chance. "When Hap's mom died," she said slowly, braced for another attack at any moment ", she left him everything, not that it was much. And he's willed it all to me in case…" she trailed off, throat feeling thick. How dare this woman accuse her of being some cheap gold digging bimbo in search of a sugar daddy. She didn't give a shit about Noelle's old jewelry and trinkets.

Paulette spoke to Holly, but her eyes never left Ava. "I move all the way out here, live in this goddamn ghetto to take care of my dyin' sister, and here _she_ is, gettin' Noelle's things, takin' up Sam's time -,"

"Hap takes care of you! Don't you accuse him of anything less!" Ava shoved off the cabinets, hands balling into fists. "The _club_ takes his time," she was nearly shouting now, quivering head to toe ", and the _club_ rules his life, the _club's_ gonna take him away from me one of these days. You don't know a goddamn_ thing_ about us, about _me_!" she slapped her chest with both hands. "It killed him when Noelle died, I watched him hurt. I've sacrificed _so much_ to be with him. So you hate me if you want, and you call me a whore if it makes you feel better, but don't you _dare_ accuse me of being some shallow bitch after his money."

Paulette turned away from her, went back to the sink and ran water over the ashtray saucer again even though she didn't need to. Ava put both her hands over her belly, not caring if Holly now understood what was going on with her. She was terrified, sad to the bone at the prospect of what lay ahead of her in the next few weeks, and worried about wherever Hap had gone that morning, whatever it was he had to do. She was at her absolute breaking point, and Paulette had been that last little thing to push her closer to the edge.

"I'm sorry," she said with a wobbly sigh. "Really, Paul, I just…I'm sorry. He's your nephew and I know you're just looking out for him."

The redhead didn't acknowledge her at first, squeezing soap onto a sponge and taking it to the saucer, going through the entire washing process without any sign that she'd heard her. When she was done and was drying the dish on a rag hooked through the handle of the stove, she sniffed loudly and asked ", if this girl -,"

"Holly," Holly supplied.

" - stays here, it'll help Sam?"

"So much."

Paulette nodded as she stowed the saucer in the appropriate cabinet, wiping her hands on the legs of her sweatpants. "You pull your weight," she said to Holly. "I ain't nobody's maid."

Ava sagged back against the countertop with relief.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Lowman," Holly was all charm and graciousness, getting to her feet with a plastered-on smile. "I'll be happy to help you around the house. I get bored if I sit still too long."

Paulette snorted. "You good with a trowel? I got herbs that need to get in the ground."

She always caved. Over the past few years, the club had used Hap's aunt's house as a hiding spot for more than just Old Ladies looking to beat a murder rap, and she'd always accommodated them, though not without bitching and moaning along the way.

Ava ran a shaking hand through her hair, nerves fried. Even if she chalked the insults up to the rantings of a bitter old woman with poorly dyed hair and too many freckles, they still stung, still left her feeling hollow and frightened. _I'm twenty now, _she'd wanted to say, but it would have been useless. The twenty-seven year age gap that separated Hap and her hadn't closed any, never would, no matter how old she was, and she would always be a trollop in Paulette's eyes. Most likely the eyes of the world. No wonder Tig hated her too…

She stepped up to Holly, giving herself a mental shake. "You'll be okay here," she told her. "And Jax said it would only be for a few days, just till we can get things settled at home."

Holly nodded and offered a smile, though terror was visible through the cracks in her façade. In her position, Ava knew she would have felt the same. She hugged her, and it must have surprised Holly because it took a second before she hugged her back.

**-O-**

In a local hospital, in a town as small as Charming, word of anything odd traveled like lightning through the corridors. Tara was on her way back up from the cafeteria, a fresh cup of coffee in her hands, when she learned that there was an inbound GSW on the way. She could hear the approaching sirens on the ambulance by the time she reached the trauma ward and her stomach filled up with a familiar, nearly-immobilizing dread. Jax had been vague and distant that morning, but she'd seen his bullet-proof vest, had known something big was going down today.

"Oh, God," she murmured as she watched doctors take control of the stretcher the EMTs rolled in, and she wasn't sure if it was a curse, or a prayer.

**-O-**

"I heard yelling," Carter said as Ava descended the front steps of Paulette's house. The sun was blazing and it was a warm, dry afternoon. Despite the barking dog and mismatched flower pots, the distant wail of a police siren, the afternoon was glorious when compared to the half hour she'd just spent inside.

"Girl shit," she said by way of explanation, heading down the walk toward Gemma's Escalade. "Christ, if I never see that woman again, it'll be way too soon."

"You know," he said, a smile to his voice ", I never actually thought Hap's aunt would be some sweet little old lady or anything."

Ava's phone came to life in her back pocket. "How smart of you," she said as she dug her cell out and checked the display. When she saw Jax's name, her stomach did another of those annoying somersaults. "Hey," she answered.

"Where are you?"

"Just dropped Holly with Paulette."

"Good." He sighed and she could envision him swiping a hand down his blonde goatee. "How quick can you get back to Charming?"

She halted on the sidewalk, suddenly light-headed. "Jax, what's wrong?"

"You need to come to St. Thomas."

**TBC**

**AN: **Don't be TOO scared for Hap ;)


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: **So I don't leave you guys hanging! Yes, this shooting was THE shooting, Sal Rubio in the stairwell, and the plan to use the Mexican dealers as puppets with the feds was what led to that in "Gets in Your Blood". But, since Holly's presence keeps this from being a true prequel or part of the series, I'm gonna take the ending in an alternate direction. And it remains to be seen if that's a good thing!

…

He watched the way the water rippled over his skin, the way it broke along the knob of his wrist and followed the thick spider-web veins that ran down his forearms. His hands looked smooth and tan and clean, even under his nails, which were usually gummed with motor oil and dirt. But he reached for the bar of Dial on the counter again and rolled it between his palms until a thick yellow foam was dripping down into the sink basin. He rubbed it against his nails, scrubbed his hands together until he thought he might bleed. And then he rinsed again, drawing comfort in the visual of cold, clear water sluicing down through his fingers, washing the soap away. He focused on the bubbles swirling around the drain and then getting pulled down it, the dirt and guilt disappearing down into the pipes. Because if he took a step back and looked at the whole scenario, it was more than he wanted to handle without the aid of alcohol and opiates.

"Juice," he heard someone's voice – Bobby, he made a mental note – out in the hall. "You back here? Hey, Hale pulled the feds in, rounded up the Mexicans and…" his boots thumped over the floor of the dorm. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." He picked up the bar of soap again.

Bobby made that deep grumbling sound in his chest that was nothing short of disapproval. "I'm guessin' you been at this awhile." When Juice didn't acknowledge him, he stepped into the bathroom, Juice flinched as his hand landed on his shoulder. "C'mon, brother. Shake it off. Jax wants us all to show up at the hospital; anyone not there is gonna set off the feds' radar."

The hospital. Where the doctors would be trying to save Hap's life. If they even could; he'd lost _so much_ blood. And it was where Ava would come to see him, distraught, crying, searching for an explanation. He wasn't ready for that.

"Juice. Let's go."

He flung the soap, because it was all he had, heard it land in the tub with a loud thud and then rattle against the bottom. Silently, he rinsed his hands a final time and left, leaving Bobby to follow.

**-O-**

The water that gurgled out of the faucet in the McDonald's bathroom was cold on her hands, too cold, and try as she might, she hadn't been able to get the hot knob to twist. It was a good thing, though, because she dampened a paper towel and pressed it against her neck, helping to ease the panicked nausea that had come over her behind the wheel.

She'd had to pull over and switch seats with Clay, shaking too badly to drive. It was Hap. She knew it was. Who else could it have been? And if he'd only been slightly injured, just had a scrape or a bump on the head, Jax would have told her. No, his blunt order to come to the hospital had been about keeping things from her, hoping she wouldn't fall apart until she was no longer driving and was in a safe place in which to crumble. But he might as well have told her, because she'd fallen apart anyway.

Ava trashed the towel and stared at her hands, stupidly, knowing she should be running back out to the Escalade. But for some reason, her shaking fingers went to her stomach, to the flat stretch of belly beneath the waistband of her leggings. She wasn't sick yet, it was too soon for that, so the dry heaves had been about stress. About Hap. About…

"Don't," she whispered to herself, knowing that if she cried, if she didn't leave now, she'd be lost.

She gave her pale, hollow-eyed reflection a glance in the mirror. "Just don't." And fled.

**-O-**

"They put in a chest tube," Tara said, slipping into the little alcove outside the waiting room door where Tig was standing. Staff rushed past them like a bustling stream, the slaps of their sneakered feet loud against the tile, affording the two of them a moment of privacy. "His right lung collapsed. He's had major blood loss," she sighed as she tied her scrub cap in place over her knotted hair. "I don't have any urgent cases today, so I'm gonna go in and observe, that way I can come back out and keep you guys posted. Are the others on the way?"

Tig had watched the hall while she spoke, but he'd heard every word, she knew. He nodded, blue eyes finally swinging over to meet hers. "Yeah."

She was almost afraid to ask. "Ava?"

"On her way back from Oakland with Clay," his mouth pulled to the side in a grim expression.

Tara nodded, brushed the escaped wisps of hair back into her cap. "There's a service elevator that leads down to the parking lot behind -,"

"I remember."

"Have them meet you there and come back up to this waiting room. I'm surprised this place isn't crawling with cops already."

She didn't normally order him around – or any of them, really – and ordering Tig around was a bad damn idea, but she hadn't thought about it. This was her turf and she knew the hospital better than any of the guys. If he'd taken offense, it didn't show. He nodded again, and then fixed her with a hard look. "You make sure they fix him, doc."

"Yeah."

She took off at a jog, feeling like the weight of the entire club had been slung across her shoulders, despite the fact that she wasn't going to be the one holding the scalpel. _"I need a 'script for painkillers". _She'd prescribed him one bottle of Combunox without refill, with strict instructions that the ibuprofen/oxycodone should only be taken sparingly, when his pain was intense, and that it should never be used if he planned on riding. She'd suggested over the counter pain meds for during the day…but how could she have been so stupid? As if any of the guys would have taken her medical warnings seriously. She wondered which he'd been taking, and how many. Was he out riding and working and…whatever it was he did, half-drunk on oxy? And how, when Ava arrived and she had to go out and make a report to the oh-so-desperately-in-love twenty-year-old as to her Old Man's status, could she swallow the guilt that she'd been the one to prescribe the pills?

The surgeon was still scrubbing in when Tara burst through the door. He shut off the water at the stainless, industrial sink with his elbow and lifted his arms as he headed for the sliding door into the OR. "Dr. Stone, can I observe?"

He spared her a quick look. "Sure."

She grabbed a paper mask from the shelf and went to the sink he'd just left. Soap was still swirling down the drain.

**-O-**

Gemma had brought her a pregnancy test because she'd been too nauseas to leave the relative sanctity of the Seattle Methodist Hospital's restroom. Maggie had sat on the counter, counting the seconds in her head, contemplating all the ways in which her life had been about to change, wondering if they were changes she could handle. What Chibs would think when she told him.

Seven months later, Ava had been born in that same Seattle hospital. Hap had been there, silent and menacing outside her door, even more sinister when he'd had hair for some reason. There had been a long, lonely thirteen years in which it was just mother and daughter, Hap their only link to the club, to Charming, to Chibs. Maggie had no doubt that the Tacoma killer was possibly the sole reason Ava was alive today. Chibs had never understood that debt, had questioned her every insistence that it was okay to let Happy have what he'd worked so hard to protect. But she had. She'd let him have her little girl. And this was the second time he'd gone head-to-head with the Grim Reaper, leaving Ava a shattered mess on the other side.

Maggie picked herself up from her slouch against the wall when she heard the service elevator _ding_, the light above it signaling its arrival to this particular floor. Ava came tumbling out first, Tig and Clay and the prospect behind her.

"Mom…"

She opened her arms and met her daughter halfway, catching her up in a strong hug. Ava had always felt like a little bundle of twigs, and she did now, arms limp. "We don't know anything yet," Maggie soothed, voice catching. "Tara's in there with him, so we just gotta wait and let her come tell us, okay?" She rubbed little circles between her shoulder blades. "It'll be alright," she said, and had no idea if it was true or not.

**-O-**

It was her nightmare come to life. Ava had awakened countless nights, panting, with the vision of Hap walking away from her and their squalling child stamped behind her eyelids, her stomach clenched up in a knot. She had known his capacity for coldness, had feared it, dreaded it, had spent the drive to Oakland that morning trying to talk herself into what she knew she had to do about her current situation, but she hadn't thought that _this_ might be the way he left her. Them. That it would be involuntary. She'd thought she had a decision to make before. The options had been clinging to her with sharp, heavy hooks sunk in and holding tight. Bu not now. Now she was willing to bargain.

_Please, _she asked no one in particular, closing her eyes, digging her nails into the fabric of her chair. Maggie was sitting next to her in the waiting room, offering empty assurances, but she wasn't there _with_ her. All the guys save Jax were in the waiting room – a man in a suit had pulled him away to talk – but Tig and Bobby and Carter and her dad and Tux were there. Juice was there, standing with his arms folded, hands jammed under his armpits, staring at the floor while he let the water fountain support all his weight. Seeing him there made it even more frightening, brought all the what-ifs swirling to the surface…at least it would have, if she hadn't been so deep, deep inside her own head at the moment.

She counted her every heartbeat, the steady pulsations that nourished her body, kept her alive. She thought about Hap's heart, thumping strongly when she'd pressed her cheek against his warm, smooth tattooed chest.

_Please_.

Even if a priest would tell her differently, even if it felt wrong, mean of her, for her, some lives were heavier than others. More important. She remembered the way the sun had poured over Hap that morning when he'd left. Like heaven. Only he'd said he was going to hell.

_Please_.

It was too soon. He was older than her, but not _old_. He wasn't done living. She wasn't done loving him. The Life was short, fast and brutal, men didn't die of old age in rocking chairs – they died bloody out on the streets, in leather and scuffed-up boots, they went down in great big bullet-ridden blazes of glory. But she didn't want him to. She wanted him to get old and withered and sit in a rocking chair on a back porch somewhere. She would take care of him. She'd never leave him…

_I'll give anything…_

Maggie nudged her lightly in the ribs and she shook off the clouds that had been building around her, sat up straighter in her chair. Tara was coming down the hall, mask dangling down around her neck, bits of hair coming loose from her scrub cap. The Sons all stood up straight, all but Juice who pressed the heel of his hand into his eye and pretended there hadn't been a tear there. Ava put a hand over her stomach._ Please_. And counted the doctor's steps.

Tara came all the way into the waiting room and let her eyes take a sweep all the way around, finally landing on Ava. She spoke loud enough so everyone could hear, but her words were directed toward Happy's Old Lady.

"He lost a lot of blood, but he's stable."

"He's," Maggie cleared her throat ", going to live?"

"Dr. Stone thinks so. Yes."

**TBC**


	27. Chapter 27

"Packin' up?"

Holt looked up from the box he was stacking full of file folders and spared Hale a nasty glare. "Our informant case has been officially closed according to my department."

The Chief hooked his thumbs through his gun belt and leaned back against the door jamb – the doorjamb to his own damn office. "You get a confession?"

"The Mexican pushers. Apparently Mick and Melinda owed them big." He huffed out a short, frustrated sigh. Tugged the knot out of his tie. "So you can rest easy, Chief. None of your precious Sons are getting touched."

Hale snorted. "Agent, it seems like you're under the impression I _like_ having the club in Charming."

Holt fitted a lid over the box he'd packed and waved dismissively. "History would indicate your office is an outlaw puppet." His voice was bitter with defeat. He had an arrest and another win on his record, but he was experiencing, as Hale was well familiar, the taste of injustice.

"I inherited a town full of outlaws," he countered. "Uprooting them will be an expensive, long process." Holt picked up his boxes and took a step toward the door. Hale intercepted. "There's a right and a wrong way to do it. I'd rather see Jax and his crew on the streets…" he made sure the agent was really listening, was glaring at him with those beady eyes "…than see Gemma, and Maggie and the girls in the cemetery. A couple of dead junkie informants aren't worth innocent lives."

"Innocent my ass." Holt moved toward the door again. "Enjoy, Chief. Don't be offended when I say I fucking hate this town."

**-O-**

"Hey." His voice sounded deeper and gruffer than normal, not just gravelly, but rusty. Ava forced her eyelids open – they felt glued together – and blinked until the hospital room came into focus. It was morning, pure, bright light filtering in through the sheer drapes at the window, and she was still lying awkwardly on the two chairs she'd pushed together the night before, head propped up so she faced Hap's bed. She immediately regretted not asking for a recliner as she sat up and her limbs all howled in protest. But seeing him awake was excellent medicine.

Hap didn't look like a man who'd nearly bled to death four days before. He'd been so pale that first night, and had slept off and on for forty-eight hours. But finally, he was starting to seem more like himself. His color was better. This was the first morning he'd awakened before her.

Ava stood and stretched, yawned and worked the kinks out of her back. "How are you?" He could push off her hovering at home, but here, he didn't have much of a choice. He didn't make a face when she crossed to the bed and gave him a visual once-over. Didn't protest when she kissed the coiled-up snake that was inked on top of his skull.

"A'ight," he said, though the lines of tension around his mouth told her it was time for more meds. "You shoulda gone home. Gotten some rest last night."

"I got some here," she lied, brushing her thumb along the shell of his ear. "I sleep better when I can hear you snoring anyway."

He twitched what might have been a smile.

A soft rap at the door signaled a nurse's arrival; she had toast and Jell-o, orange juice and his prescription in a little paper cup. Ava excused herself while she was taking his blood pressure and going through the routine pokes and prods. Watching him take his pills always twisted her stomach up into a knot when she recalled what the doctor had told her that first night.

"_He's been taking a narcotic pain reliever, so we're putting him on some heavy-duty stuff. His body' s become pretty tolerant of most everything else." _

That was why he'd been so cocky and affectionate, had been sexing her up so much. He'd been virtually pain free, and high as a goddamn kite to boot. She should have known, should have questioned, but she'd been so pathetically strung-out on his attention, she hadn't been able to ask him about his sudden shift in mood. He'd told her before that he wasn't going to go down that road again, that his pain was manageable. She'd thought he'd just decided to love her the way she wanted him to…

She cupped cold water in her hands from the bathroom sink and splashed her face, rinsed out her mouth. Popped two Tic-Tacs from the pack in her pocket. Her hair was a limp mess and her makeup had long ago been smudged off. She was in dire need of a shower, a solid meal, and a nap in her own bed. None of which were certain at the moment.

_Ungrateful bitch, _she scolded her reflection as she toweled her face in front of the mirror. She'd pleaded, prayed for Hap to live, had already made a pact with God or whomever had been listening that she would give up whatever she had to in order to keep him. And yet here she was feeling cheated. Sulking because she was a stupid little girl who couldn't just accept what he gave her and always wanted more. Scowling, she trashed the paper towels and swung open the door, nearly colliding with Juice in the hallway.

"Oh!" Ava jumped back away from him, taking a moment to realize that it was in fact Juice and that she hadn't almost slammed into a stranger. "Sorry," she shook her head, embarrassed that she'd reacted so strongly.

He looked a little wide-eyed and startled himself, but shrugged it off. "You okay?"

She must have looked even worse than the mirror had indicated. She nodded. "Yeah." And then frowned because it was early and she hadn't expected to see him yet. "Did Jax send you over? Everything alright?"

He was carrying two lidded, Styrofoam cups stacked one on top of the other and a white paper bag. "I brought you breakfast. Mags said you hadn't been eating."

Which meant no, Jax hadn't sent him. The knot in her stomach loosened just a bit. "You did?"

"Extra cream, two sugars," he held the cups toward her and she took the top one. "And an Asiago cheese bagel from Rose's, toasted and buttered." Her favorite.

"Juice, you shouldn't have," she protested, but it smelled heavenly. She inhaled the steam pouring through the little pop tab in the coffee lid and wondered, thought about the ramifications of caffeine and her current physical state, and took a sip anyway. And then another, the hot liquid warming her down to her stiff bones. It was heavenly. "Thank you," her throat felt tight with sudden emotion as she accepted the bag and then followed him the few steps down to the waiting room. "Thank you so much."

He sat down in the chair across from the one she'd chosen up against the window – the sun warm on her back and unforgivingly bright as it slanted across his face. He looked exhausted, had big, uncharacteristic bags under his eyes and scruff on his chin. She watched him glance at the door, the floor, the potted palms in the corners, everywhere but at her. Ava unrolled the top of the paper bag, pulled out the bagel and took way-too-big of a bite. So big she had to cover her mouth with her hand while she chewed. "Juice," she said when she'd swallowed, and he looked up at her with a heaviness that was startling. Like he dreaded meeting her eyes. "They told me what you did. You saved him." He glanced away again, passing a hand back over his head.

She set the bagel aside, the bite she'd already taken feeling like it had become lodged at the base of her esophagus. "Juice -,"

"I thought he was dead," his voice was thick. "I thought he was dead right there on the floor and I didn't know how I was gonna tell you. And…" he shook his head, eyes fixed on his boots.

Hap's contingency plan had obviously never stopped bleeding all over Juice. And yet her own plan was "inappropriate".

"But he didn't die," she said quietly, standing. She leaned down and dropped a kiss over one of his lightning bolts. "Thank you for that."

"Jesus Christ. He's laid up four days and you're already steppin' out on him."

Ava jerked upright and Juice slammed himself back in his chair. Paulette was coming down the hall, her Keds not making a sound on the floor. She had a bouquet of mismatched flowers that looked like she'd dug them out of her yard clenched in one hand, green eyes narrowed to accusatory slits. Holly walked a few paces behind her, arms folded, face hidden by the A's cap Ava had let her borrow.

She should have anticipated the disagreeable bitch wanting to come visit Hap, but her mind had been in a dozen other places. It felt like she and Juice had been found doing something obscene: like the weight of his promise to Hap, the weird connection that burden put between them was just some whorish impulse on her part. And had she not been so goddamn tired, she might have lunged at the redhead. But as it was, she ignored her completely, not sparing her so much as a glance as she walked past. She met Holly's oncoming hug.

"Oh, Ava, I'm so sorry. When Tig called…shit, I'm glad he's okay."

She welcomed her friend's embrace. Yeah…friend. "Can we go talk somewhere?"

**-O-**

Holly found it no small coincidence that, just as the sacred room the club used was the chapel, the hospital's chapel was the best place for them to talk in private. The light was soft, forgiving, seemed to bring some life back to Ava's gaunt cheeks. Holly pulled the hat off and ran a hand back through her hair, sat down next to Happy's Old Lady and faced forward in the pew, eyes going to the cross on the wall, trying to be unobtrusive. There was something very withdrawn and haunted about Ava. Rather than the elated, relieved lover of someone who'd escaped death, she was a ghost: a contemplative, disturbed little girl in a woman's body with something very adult weighing on her mind. From the corner of her eye, Holly watched her clench a ragged fingernail between her teeth and hold it there.

"How've things been with Paul?"

"Tolerable," Holly wasn't going to sugarcoat it. "But I was so glad when Tig said I could come home." She'd sagged against Paulette's kitchen counter when he'd told her, heart skipping a beat in pure delight.

Ava murmured an agreement. "He really cares about you, you know," her voice sounded far-off, distracted. "I know Tig isn't the sharing and caring type, but he does. It's probably as close as he ever comes to loving anyone."

So much for being unobtrusive: Holly swiveled her head around, too shocked to respond. Ava was fiddling with the zipper of her hoodie now.

"You and he ever talk about kids?"

"No," Holly shook her head emphatically. "Absolutely not. His girls are my age and I…I should never have children. No. I've never even brought it up."

Ava nodded. "But you know what he'd say if you got knocked up? If you guys slipped and it happened?" She paused and Holly waited because, no, she had no idea. "He'd yell and throw things. Break a lamp. Tell you how awful it was. But he wouldn't go anywhere. He'd be there for you, and for it."

"Ava -,"

"I prayed, when he was in surgery, I said I'd do anything, if he could just live. And he did. So I'm pregnant, and Hap will hate me for it. I...you can't tell anyone, but I just...I had to tell _somone, _and Mom would freak out that...that...I...I have to have an abortion."

**-O-**

Juice lingered in the waiting room, thankful Ava wasn't there when Hap's aunt passed through again. He wasn't sure he'd ever actually spoken to the woman, and now wasn't any different. She spared him a nasty look on her way to the elevator that he ignored. Once alone, he went down to Hap's room and knocked on the doorjamb.

The killer was just not one of those guys who was easy to envision in a hospital bed. The reality was a little spooky: if Hap was mortal, then they all were, and it sent an uneasy chill up Juice's spine. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I got shot."

"Fair enough." He pushed the door to and settled into one of the two chairs beside the bed. It had been awkward with Ava because she'd looked near tears for almost a week solid. But suddenly, as he fiddled with his rings, he realized it was awkward with Hap too. That whole "if anything happens to me" plan had almost been put to the test, and it felt like that old conversation about Ava's fate was in the room with them, taking up space, making him twitchy. Hap, as always, even pale and unshaven, in a hospital gown, seemed unflappable. "Um…" Juice began, wetting his lips and scooting forward in the chair, looking at Hap's forehead and not his eyes. "We voted last night." He hated this, because even if Hap lived to a ripe old age, the vote, this decision, might change things. "Jax said the plan's a go soon as you're back on your feet."

Hap nodded. "Okay." He looked almost pleased, Juice thought, like he was glad to have been tasked with this responsibility.

He should keep his mouth shut. Bad things happened when he started talking. But he kept seeing Ava's crumpled, tear-stained face as she'd leaned against her mother in the waiting room four days before. Kept hearing the hitch in each of her breaths while the minutes crept by. She was still tired, still torn-up inside. "Hap," he said boldly, against his better judgment – then again, his judgment had never been worth a shit. "You have to tell her."

Hap stared at him a moment, black eyes digging holes through him until he wanted to look away, clenched his hands into nervous fists instead. "She's my Old Lady," he said, voice firm. "And she can't know about this. That's how I keep her safe. Even if it makes her sad."

Juice sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"I dunno how long I'll have to be gone, but don't you say shit, you hear me?"

_Even if it makes her sad…_ "I hear."

**TBC**


	28. Chapter 28

"That fuckin' thing…"

Holly glanced at the coffee maker that was chugging away merrily, fresh dark roast spitting down into the pot. Tig was pointing at it, lip pulled back off his teeth, looking like the appliance may have made an attempt on his life at some point. "What about it?" she asked, a laugh trying to force its way into her voice.

"It hates me."

She turned around and put her back to the counter, arms folded, wanting to really look at his face when he made such ridiculous claims. "It hates you?"

"It's the _Christine_ of goddamn coffee pots."

Holly couldn't help it; she chuckled. "Did you and she not get along while I was gone?"

He snorted angrily, like a bull about to charge, and resumed his scavenger hunt through the fridge.

"You know, it won't turn on unless you lock the top into place after you put the filter in."

There was a beat of silence. "I knew that."

She covered her grin with a hand, full-on laughing now. "I can make you something if you want."

He had pulled a Tupperware container from the depths and was frowning at the lump inside. He tossed it back in and shut the door. "Christ, one more day without coffee and real food, I was gonna kill somebody."

Holly's laughter caught in her throat. It was a fairly standard threat on his part – someone was always in danger of being killed if things weren't right in his world. But it was the underlying suggestion that had startled her, the knowledge that_ she_ was the provider of real food and coffee, that by proxy, he'd needed _her_, even if it was only on a basic level.

"What?" he eyed her suspiciously.

She still had her hand over her mouth and lowered it, feeling like an idiot. She should have let it go, was already shaking her head, but a smile stole across her face. "You missed me," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Didn't you?"

Tig's eyes narrowed to blue slits, age and stress lines crinkling up in their corners. It was somehow just as endearing as it was frightening. Then again, Holly had never really been afraid of him, she just let him think she was sometimes. She could imagine the bomb that had just exploded in his head, all the mental shrapnel, the way he was madly weighing the pros and cons of admitting something any other man would have without hesitation. "You don't know that," he said it last, but it almost sounded like a question. _You don't really know that about me, do you? Shit! I can't have you _knowing_ that I want you around!_

Holly saved him further embarrassment, presenting him with her back as she reached up to the top cabinet after coffee mugs. "No," she assured ", I don't think -,"

He spun her around so fast the cabinet pull slid out of her fingers and the door slammed shut with a loud bang. Holly's gasp died in her throat when she saw the look on his face, the way all the trepidation and suspicion had melted away into something hot and hungry. Her hands found his shoulders as he grabbed her hips and set her up on the counter.

"Okay," he was almost smiling, even though his voice came out as a growl. Holly thought it was cute. "So I missed you, alright?"

She didn't mind that his kiss cut off whatever she might have said.

**-O-**

"Okay, you've got leftovers for lunch in the fridge, beer, soda, those Ranch Doritos you like…" Ava dropped her phone and wallet in her purse and slung it over her shoulder, shooting a glance through the kitchen door into the living room where Hap sat, sullen, on the couch. "And your pills," her voice flexed, became taught, the word 'pills' coming out like a curse. She shook her head. "I get off at five and it'll take about thirty minutes to get home. You good?"

His eyes never left the TV. "Yep."

Ava sighed, glanced at the clock and saw that she was already running five minutes late. But she walked into the next room and knelt down beside the arm of the sofa. "I know this whole recovery thing sucks, but it's temporary." Truth be told, she wasn't sure why, considering all his arms and legs were fully-functional, he was actually resting. She'd expected him to say "fuck doctor's orders" and hit the clubhouse, push himself too soon. So his compliance was a bit unnerving.

"Yep."

"Too bad being an asshole isn't temporary," she muttered under her breath as she stood and left the room. "Bye." She grabbed her things. "Love you."

No response.

**-O-**

"The Mayans have been _very_ helpful getting us intel," Juice said as he spread the mug shots out across the table.

"Cause they know these dickheads'll rat on them too," Opie muttered.

Hap nodded in agreement, leaning forward so he could really study the printouts. The Sons and Mayans would be targeted for revenge if any of the little shits got up the courage to squeal. One face, though, was missing from the group. He frowned. "Where's the one who clipped me?"

"Dunno." Juice made an apologetic face. "I'm a few names short. Alvarez didn't know all of 'em."

"I'll find him."

That earned several grins around the table. "Yeah you will," Jax said with a little chuckle.

It was a Nomad job, really, the kind of thing he'd done for years. And even though he was patched Redwood now, he was still the one Jax wanted out there, the one the club trusted the most to handle things quickly, efficiently, and without any tangled sentiments on the whole thing. His brothers all knew he would hunt all the motherfuckers down, no matter how long it took, tireless, never breaking down or giving up because he was "tired". Or because the siren's song of home was too strong to ignore.

He flashed on the night before and Ava rolling away from him. Groggy and sore, he wasn't even sure what he'd wanted, his hand had just slid beneath the sheets and landed on her hip. And she'd moved out of reach. It was hard to reconcile her with the same girl who'd been unable to keep her hands off him when he'd had his leg in a cast. If she wasn't already gone, the little girl who'd stared up at him with such adoration shining in her eyes was surely fading away. And that wasn't what he wanted. A girl he could leave behind, a woman would resent him.

Jax closed church with a reminder that Gemma was hosting dinner the next night, that all Old Ladies were supposed to bring something. Hap wanted a smoke and some quiet, waved off Bobby's offer for pool and went out to sit on one of the tables beneath the pavilion. He wasn't alone long.

All his brothers had distinctive gaits – he knew them just to listen to them – and Tig gave himself away before he spoke. "Hey, Hap."

He nodded an acknowledgement.

"You okay with this? Leaving and all?"

Hap barely suppressed a grin. "You really askin' me that?"

Tig fished a smoke out of cut pocket and tilted his head in silent apology as he searched for his lighter. "Officially?" he said around the smoke. "Nah. Know you better than that." Hap did grin at that. "But unofficially? What's your kid gonna think?"

"Don't got a kid."

"Right. Your _Old Lady_."

It was a warm night; all they needed were camp chairs and beers. Crickets and cicadas still chirruped around them, the late summer feeling dry and smooth and tired. It was his favorite time of year. Great riding weather. Hap was content just to exist, to stand on the T-M pavement and soak up the world in this town at this point in time. Walking out of what had felt like a certain death left him feeling very Zen, oddly peaceful. Like every moment was one of those perfect, crystal drops of calm right after the crack of a gun echoed in the distance, when madness had stopped, when peace had descended, when the soil drank up the blood.

"Her birthday's in two weeks," he said. "I'll stay for that. Gimme more time to heal."

Tig slugged him good-naturedly in the arm. "Yeah. She'll like that."

**-O-**

Holly knew she shouldn't pry, but that night, as she snapped green beans and tossed the ends into a plastic shopping bag at Gemma's table, curiosity got the best of her. Things had been going so perfectly…perfect with Tig, and it was unnerving her to see Ava sitting across from her, peeling carrots with all the enthusiasm of a corpse, looking thin and pale and scared for no reason. The role reversal between them was so striking she wondered how the rest of the woman around them didn't see it. Here she was, humming to herself, happy, smiling for no reason, and Ava looked like her man had actually died a few weeks ago. She was anything but the relieved, high-on-life girl she should have been. When Maggie excused herself in search of the good napkins, Holly kicked Ava lightly under the table.

"Ow." Her dark eyes flashed up. "What?"

Holly shot a glance over her shoulder, ensuring that no one was within earshot. "Did you have it done yet?" she whispered.

"Have what done?"

She sighed. "The a-b-."

"No."

"Ava," she paused, thinking she heard footsteps, then shook her head. "It's only gonna be harder for you the longer you wait. You know that, right?"

Ava went back to her carrots, stripping the skins off with a renewed vigor, a muscle in her jaw ticking.

"I know you want to keep it." And she did. Her heart went out to the poor girl. Holly knew that there was no way she should have children, least of all with someone like Tig. But she had a sinking feeling that if it happened and she found herself staring down at a positive pregnancy test, she wouldn't be able to pull the trigger, so to speak. "Talk to him," she urged quietly. "He loves you so much, he has to -,"

"It doesn't matter," Ava said with finality.

"What doesn't matter?" Maggie asked, and Holly nearly leapt from her chair. Here she thought she'd been so sneaky.

Ava shook her head. "Nothing."

**Two Weeks Later**

"What do you wanna do tomorrow?"

Ava glanced up from her laptop, surprised, and saw Hap standing on the other side of the kitchen table, hands resting lightly on the back of the chair in front of him. She hit 'save' on the report she was typing and gave him her full attention, eyes skipping up his relaxed, tattooed arms, the swells of his pecs beneath his t-shirt, the soft set of his jaw. He was calm, cool, not upset. She eased down the lid of her laptop and wet her lips. As distant as they'd been – well, really, she was the one pulling away this time and she knew it – she hadn't expected any sort of overture for her birthday. "Um…I dunno. I figure Mom will want to make me dinner."

"Nah," he said with a chuckle, pulling out the chair and sitting. "You're finally gonna be legal. We're goin' out and gettin' you a drink, sweetheart."

A chill went rattling up her spine, so quickly and with such force that she couldn't keep from shivering.

Hap twitched a concerned frown. "What?"

"Nothing." She opened her laptop again, letting the screen serve as a barrier between her and his probing dark eyes. Of all the times he could have picked to play the concerned, involved, thoughtful boyfriend, and it was when she didn't want to talk to him. Couldn't, even. She poised her hands over the keys and waited for the shaking to subside, took a deep breath. _It doesn't matter, _a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. _You made the appointment. _Tara hadn't asked any questions when she'd given her the number of the clinic, but her expression had been tense, sad, understanding even. She'd given her shoulder a squeeze and told her she was there if she needed her. But Ava hadn't wanted to talk. How did she explain that the baby she'd dreamt about, wanted, ached for, had to be given up so she could keep the man who'd lived.

Her computer closed again, this time because Hap's hand was on it. The click of the lid touching down felt too loud to her. Her chest tightened, breath quickened. He didn't look upset. At least not so far. But what did it say that she was already worried about that? Did she…God, was she…_afraid of him_? What in the fuck had happened to them? How could they be sitting here in their own kitchen and be further apart than they'd ever been?

"What's goin' on with you?"

Four years ago she would have reached for his hand, heedless of everything but the love she bore for him, and admitted it all. Would have cried and asked him "please". But she had realized that loving him was taxing. She'd learned a lot of things, not the smallest of which was to keep her mouth shut. "You don't wanna know," she said, getting to her feet.

She realized too late that she now had nowhere to go. When she stepped up to the sink, she cursed the lack of dirty dishes. With nothing to do, she stood there, achingly obvious in her avoidance of him. The room was silent, the ticking of the clock deafening.

Hap sighed. "We doin' this again?" She chewed at her lip and stared down the drain. "Fuck it."

His chair scraped back across the linoleum and a desperate, frightened chord got plucked inside her. _Tell him. _She'd been cold for weeks, kept pushing him away, hadn't even touched him. He would leave, he would, she knew it. And even if she was trying to figure out how bad that would truly be, there was a part of her that wouldn't let it happen. _Talk to him, _Holly had urged. _He loves you so much…_"Hap, wait." She spun away from the sink, one hand still lingering on the counter for support. He paused in the doorway to the living room. "I," she took a deep breath, forced herself to meet his gaze. "I'm pregnant." He didn't even blink. "But I'm taking care of it. Tara got me an appointment at a clinic and I'm…terminating it."

Ava had always prided herself on being one of the few who could tackle a staring contest with this man. But tonight, she didn't have the strength. She glanced away, not able to hold in her shaky exhale either. From the corner of her eye, she saw him roll his head around on his neck. And she nearly flinched when he moved.

Hap went to the cabinet above the fridge and took down the bottle of Jack and two glasses. Ava watched him sit back down at the table, pour two shots in each tumbler. "Sit." She did. "Here." He slid one of the drinks across to her and downed his own in one swallow.

Her hand closed around the tumbler, but she couldn't bring it to her lips. _Just do it, _she willed herself, but her arm wouldn't move. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.

"Drink it," his deep, smoker's voice was capable of such coldness sometimes. Like now. "It don't matter, right?"

"Please don't do this…"

"What? You made an appointment. You can have a fuckin' drink."

Ava let go of the whiskey and rested her forehead in her palm, blinking, trying to keep him from seeing the tears that threatened.

"You weren't gonna go through with it, were you?"

"Hap -,"

"_Were you_?"

"I was! _Am_, I am." His expression was full of such malice she didn't want to look at him, but did anyway. "I didn't say it'd be easy, but I'm doing it."

He picked up her glass again and slammed it down in front of her, amber liquid sloshing up over the rim. His eyes flashed black. "Then drink it."

The tears came. It was a miracle she'd held them back as long as she had. "No," her voice caught.

"I knew it," Hap sneered.

"Knew what?" she threw her hands in the air. "That I want to keep it? Imagine that," she choked out a high-pitched, hysterical laugh. "I actually want to keep my own baby! God, Happy, of course I do!"

He stood and reached for his jacket on the peg by the door.

"You're an asshole," she snarled through her tears, jumping up from the table and moving around it. "I'm having this abortion for _you_, because _you_ don't want kids. And you know how hard this is -,"

He moved so quickly, she didn't have time to react. One moment he was shrugging into his sweatshirt, the next he had her backed up against the door, one hand held loosely around her throat. He leaned down low so his face was in close to hers, nostrils flared, jaw clenched, eyes dark with predatory focus. Ava gasped. Her earlier question – was she afraid of him? – yeah, she was.

His hand tightened just the slightest, enough to let her feel how hard he could squeeze if he wanted to. "Don't do me any favors."

She skittered out of the way when he released her and opened the door. When he was gone, the slam of the door echoing in her head, Ava sank down against the cabinets and rested her forehead on her knees.

**-O-**

It was after two a.m. when he let himself in the backdoor. The house was still, dark, holding its breath against whatever he'd brought back with him. Hap left his boots by the door, cut and jacket on the designated pegs. Without turning on a single lamp, he found his way to the bedroom. Moonlight streamed in from the window, painted the slight figure beneath the blankets in a silvery glow, her hair looking black on the pillow. When he paused in the threshold, he could hear her slow, even breaths. She was asleep.

He knew he should turn around, walk back out. Pack up his essentials and just get out of town. But he eased down onto the edge of the bed and curled his hand around her arm. Ava came awake with a start. She rolled onto her back, the whites of her eyes shining with abject fear as she glanced up and recognized him. She tensed up and he thought she might be contemplating ways to wriggle out of his grasp. "Ava…"

She went limp. But her face was stone. Her chest heaved. She'd always been such a pretty little thing: it was what had led him down this road to begin with. She didn't resist when he pushed up the hem of her tank top with his free hand. Lifted her hips when he tugged her silk shorts down her legs. But she turned her head away when he touched her through her black lace panties.

Hap sighed. He climbed onto the bed and flopped down next to her, staring at the ceiling. "Don't make me the bad guy," his voice felt raw and full of too much gravel. "You knew I didn't want -,"

"And you knew I did." Sudden tears turned her words into strained little squeaking sounds. "Oh, God," she put both her hands over her face. "Why are we even together?"

"Cut that shit out," he was too damn tired, and a little too drunk to put any anger into the words. "Just leave if you're fuckin' done."

She whimpered. Sniffled. "My appointment's Thursday."

Her contingency plan, that's what she'd called a baby. Her way to stay connected to him when he was gone. He'd walked away from death, but was he walking back into it again? He had no fucking idea. That wasn't even the point. He rolled over, trapping her between his arms, hovering over her with his knees and hands braced on the mattress. "Cancel it."

She wiped at her face, but the tears still glimmered in the moonlight. "Hap, you -,"

He leaned down low, letting her feel his weight, flattened out until their stomachs kissed. "Cancel it," he repeated, mouth against her ear. In so many ways he regretted the words as he said them, but not because he wanted any harm to come to the little seed inside her. It had never, ever been about that. And it pissed him off that they'd become so disconnected, her paranoia was so out of control that she'd jumped to such an extreme conclusion.

Her delicate little hands folded over one another at the back of his neck. Her damp cheek pressed against his temple. She took a shaky breath. "I don't want you to hate me over a baby."

"But we both know you can't kill it."

She started crying again. "No," she managed. "No, I really can't."

Hap gathered her up in his arms and rolled over again, settling her on his chest. "I'm not mad, baby." And he didn't know if that was a lie, or if knowing he had to leave was making him soft. But she shivered and shook for at least another hour before her breathing evened out. Then he was alone in the dark room with the disturbing knowledge that at least biologically speaking, he was going to be a father.

**TBC**


	29. Chapter 29

"My living will. The mortgage shit. HVAC guy's number. Plumber's number. Security system shit. Mom's good jewelry. The key to her safety deposit box."

Ava stared at their kitchen table, cataloguing each item he laid before her: the paperwork he'd produced from an old string-tie, accordion binder. And the jewelry box. And the key. Hap was nothing if not organized at all times. "Okay." She took a deep breath and nodded, again squelching the surge of emotion that threatened to close up her throat and reduce her to a sobbing puddle on the floor. Instead, she concentrated on being the rock she needed to be. This was no game. She was no child.

"It might take a while, but if he needs to, Jax can get in touch with me." Which meant that, should it be an emergency, she could pass word along to him. Or maybe even if it wasn't an emergency. Maybe, she hoped, he just wanted to hear someone say that a 'hi' and a prayer had been sent by her. "If you need somethin', you got your dad, Juice. Hell, drag Koz's ass down here."

She twitched a small smile. Uncle Koz would come running if he had to.

"You've got your nine and I'm gonna leave you a twelve-gauge and one of my forty-fives."

"Oh, Hap, those are -,"

"I can get somethin' else," he was firm. Pulled one of his twin S&Ws out of his shoulder holster and set it on the table before her. He loved those guns, but her keeping one of the .45s was another of those ways he showed he cared. He wanted her to have something of his: a twisted token of love. "Tons of ammo in the safe."

Ava dashed a hand across her eyes, blinked, smiled and pretended she hadn't been about to tear up. "I'm all set for a zombie apocalypse?"

"You bet your sweet ass."

The clock ticked on the wall. When he pulled his chair out and sat, the scrape of the legs across the linoleum felt obscenely loud. This was it: he'd told her in the first minutes of dawn, when time seemed suspended, what Jax had asked him to do. What his club required of him. He was on a manhunt, and that could spell six weeks, six months…who knew. But it wasn't about them. It was about the club, about all of them. Hap would never, she knew, put the two of them, their relationship, ahead of SOA. It was what she admired about him, and what kept her from having the kind of love she wanted.

"I, um," she almost laughed at the insanity of it all. "I dunno what to say."

Her hands were clasped on the table and his rough, tan, callused hand covered them. "Happy Birthday."

"You are _not_ funny."

He chuckled, the sound deep, rusty, resonating deep in his chest somewhere. She loved to hear him laugh like that when her ear was pressed over his heart: it echoed. She wouldn't get to feel that sensation for…an indefinite amount of time.

Ava took a deep breath, wet her lips and met his eyes, watched his smile slowly fade back into hiding. "Hap." She'd practiced this in her head for two hours now. It still didn't sit right. "You know I love you…more than is healthy. But I…I'm keeping it."

His hand tightened just a bit. "I know."

"I…and it…_we_ will be right here when you get back. Whenever that is." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "But only if that's what you want. I know love isn't always enough. I just wanna know…" her eyes burned and she shut them a moment. She didn't want to say this, but had to. "If you want this to be the end, then end it. You know I'll wait for you till the end of days, but you have to want me to." Another deep breath. She met his gaze and didn't blink. "You have to ask me to. So this is me, telling you, that you have to ask me to wait. I won't be an unwanted burden."

**Three Days Later**

"You should go by and see your daughter." Maggie moved the steaming tea kettle off the stove eye and poured the boiling water into the two cups on the counter. The smell of water meeting tea leaves was instant and homey.

Behind her, at her kitchen table, she heard the pages of Chibs' magazine rustle. Heard him sigh. "She won't wanna see me."

"And that's you guys' problem right there," she replaced the kettle and carried their mugs to the table. He arched a single brow over the _Iron Horse _he was leafing through. "You always assume she doesn't want, or _need_ to see you, and then she assumes you don't care about her."

"Don't care about her," he scoffed. "That's a buncha shit."

"No it's not. She's in a real precarious place right now, and if you don't reach out to her, with what's going on, you won't ever be able to salvage that relationship."

He shook his head dismissively, not believing her. Maggie felt her lips press together in quiet rage. She'd always thought being back in Charming, as a family, would bridge the gap between the two of them. But instead it opened up all these opportunities for Chibs to let awkwardness and doubt get the best of him. He'd never, she reminded herself, been a part of raising a teenage girl. _Neither of his_, she thought sourly.

"She's pregnant."

The magazine dropped to the table. "What? Are you shittin' me?"

"She told me yesterday." Maggie was calm now, though she'd thought she might keel over with another heart attack when Ava had told her. "She is heartbroken and terrified. And she needs her father."

**-O-**

When Ava swung into her drive that evening after work, she saw a bike under the carport and her heart did a lurch. Bad news already? But it was her dad, she saw, recognized the airbrush detail on the fuel tank and the handle bars. She sighed, smoothed her palms down the fronts of her gray pinstripe dress pants and let herself in the back door with her guard up.

Chibs was at her kitchen table and had obviously helped himself to a bag of pretzels and a beer. He cleared his throat as she ditched her jacket. "Hey, sweetheart."

She eyed him warily. "Hi, Dad."

"Sit."

She did, wondering where this sudden visit and all this paternal friendliness had come from. "Is everything okay?" she asked with a frown.

He held her gaze a moment – he had a damn good poker face when he chose to employ it – drummed his fingers on the table top. "Baby, I'm sorry -,"

"Stop." She glanced away, held up a hand to stave him off. She was fine so long as no one gave her a sad look or expressed their sympathy. She was able to pretend that Hap hadn't left just days before and that his child wasn't the size of a pea inside her belly so long as she didn't have to think or talk about it. But she knew she'd break apart if she had to look the whole thing dead in the face. She couldn't talk about this, couldn't share those kinds of things with her father.

"Ava -,"

"No!" her voice became tremulous and childlike in an instant. "Please, I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay." She felt his hand close over hers, much the way Hap's had. "We don't have to." His tone became gentle, which made her eyes sting. He was a sweet man, her dad. When he bothered to show it.

Ava wiped at her eyes, embarrassed, ashamed. It was hard to defend her life, her choices, when she was alone like this.

"You don't have to do this all by yourself, luv." It was as if he'd read her mind. "You've got your mum and me. And the club's watchin' out for ya. We all love ya, sweetheart."

She nodded, took a deep breath, and then got to her feet and hurried around the table, into her dad's offered hug. He smelled like smoke and leather and dirt, like he always had. And didn't seem to care that she cried all over him.

**Three Weeks Later**

"You doin' okay, baby?"

Ava lifted the washcloth she'd laid across her forehead and eyes, tried and failed to give her mother a smile, so just blinked. "Dandy." When really, she was anything but. The tile in the master bath of the Telford house was cool beneath the bare backs of her legs, and her arms, but unforgivingly hard too. For the moment, her nausea had scaled back, was taking a breather, so that_ she_ could actually breathe. She still shivered though. Was in a cold, clammy sweat.

Ah, the joys of morning sickness. She hadn't even been able to go to work.

Maggie crouched down at her side, removed the cloth and replaced it with a fresh damp, cool one. "Poor baby," she cooed. "You want anything? Maybe some ginger ale?"

"I'm fine, Mom." Because she had to be. She had no option to be anything but fine.

The overhead bathroom lighting put a halo around her mom's blonde head, made her look almost angelic. Which was a crock. But at this point, anyone who kept her in fresh washcloths was indeed an angel. "I never wanted this for you," Maggie said, lips pursed. She shook her head. "This is just so much like me when I was pregnant with you."

"No it's not," Ava said quickly, regretting the way the sudden stress grabbed at her stomach. "It is _not_ like that."

But Maggie sighed and glanced away, stared at the far wall.

Ava had already played the match game in her head – compared her mother being twenty-two and alone, looked after by other Sons, to herself: twenty-one. Alone. Looked after by other Sons. "No," she murmured to herself. "Not the same."

**-O-**

Holly didn't ask Ava if she was okay: she knew she got asked that much too much. But she offered a sympathetic half-smile as the still-tiny pregnant girl returned to the room and eased back down onto the sofa.

"False alarm," she said, voice haggard. She had dark circles under her eyes and her skin seemed papery thin and white: she was exhausted. "I think I'm gonna start puking up organs if this goes any further."

Having the stomach flu was the only way Holly could relate. She'd spent a week shivering and trying to hold down warm water several months ago. She'd looked much the same way Ava had. But she'd known that it would pass, and when it did, she wouldn't be left pregnant and alone. Seeing her friend like this both confirmed her decision, and made her feel guilty for coming to talk about it.

"I know I'm such great company," Ava prodded, managing a lopsided grin. "But what did you really wanna talk about?"

"I just wanted to check up on you."

"Liar."

She sighed. "Yeah I am." Fiddled with the hem of her sweater. "I actually – and I hate to do this – wanted to ask you a favor."

Ava hitched herself up straighter on the sofa, tugging on the front of her oversized gray tunic, which did little for her appearance. "What?"

"I just, um…I'm having a procedure done next week and was hoping you could pick me up from the hospital after. You know, if you're feeling alright. You'd just have to drop me by the house, I wouldn't need a babysitter."

"Procedure?" she frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I am." But her tongue felt like concrete in her mouth. "I'm having my tubes tied."

All traces of queasy indifference left Ava's face. She pulled her legs up onto the couch and leaned forward, a hand braced on her knee. Her eyes went saucer-wide, and the startled picture she presented only made Holly's uncertain heart hammer all the harder. "Holly, are you sure?"

She bowed her head, stared at her fingernails. "I am."

There was a heavy pause. "I mean…I'm not one of those assholes who thinks everyone needs to have a buncha kids, but…it's so final."

"That's kinda the point."

"It's good to have options is all." Ava sighed loudly. "But what do I know? Sure, I'll pick you up."

"Thanks," Holly picked her head up and offered a half-smile-half-grimace. "And could you please not mention anything? To anyone? I haven't even told Tig."

**-O-**

Holly looked like a different person. She was in sweats – which Ava wasn't sure she'd ever seen – really baggy sweats that hung off of her. No makeup. Always so mindful of her presentation and her polite little almost-smile that she wore all the time, the girl who shuffled across the room toward the bed could have been Holly's unkempt twin.

Ava's hand fluttered over her stomach and she found herself aching with sympathetic sadness. Holly hadn't complained, hadn't really said much of anything since they'd left the hospital, but as she eased down onto the bed and curled up on top of the covers, it wasn't just about the physical pain of having her abdomen sliced open.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No," her voice was muffled against the comforter. "I've got pain meds in my pocket."

Which was probably her hint to leave: Holly had this thing about not wanting to burden people. She hadn't even told Tig she was having this done, which irritated Ava for several reasons, one of which being the bartender's insistence that she tell Hap about her pregnancy. That needed to be fully disclosed, but major surgery was something that needed to be kept secret, apparently.

"I don't feel good about leaving you alone here."

"I'll be fine."

Just like _she_ was fine. Ava's hands clenched up into fists at her sides. This was the way it always went, didn't it? The women of SAMCRO made sacrifice after sacrifice, boxed away their heartache, turned into calculating, callous bitches like her cousin Gemma, and the men went along unaffected.

She didn't really care if it earned her a backhand across the face. She was tired of this bullshit.

**-O-**

Juice was at the bar when Ava came storming into the clubhouse. He'd seen her mad, had watched her eyes almost bug out of her head, but it had usually been school-related, and she usually didn't bring that shit into the clubhouse: she was smarter than that. But tonight she looked like she was on a rampage, eyes spitting fire, jaw clenched up right. It would have been comical if he didn't know how comfortable she was with making a scene.

"Hey, Ava, what -,"

She threw up a hand and kept walking, boot heels sounding like gunshots on the hardwood. "Where's Tig?"

Carter and Tux were playing pool and lowered their cues. "I think he's in back," Carter said, and Juice cursed inwardly.

"Thanks."

"Ava." He hopped off his stool and went after her. "Ava, wait."

But it was too late. She'd rounded into the kitchen where Tig stood with a sweetbutt – that big redhead whose name he couldn't remember – who was making him a sandwich. Tig had his hand on the woman's ass, looking ready to return her "generosity" with some of his own. It wasn't that alarming of a sight, but Ava was good and bowed up about something. When Juice made a grab for her arm, she yanked away from him, tossing him a glare over her shoulder that should have turned him to stone. Then she whirled back to Tig.

"Do you know where Holly is?" she demanded.

The Sgt at Arms did a slow turn, glanced at Ava, shot a look to Juice that bespoke of his disbelief that he, as her protector or some shit, had let her march her little ass in and start asking questions. "What?" he asked in a tone that dripped with false patience and Juice could detect the warning under the words. Only Gemma – and even then, maybe not even her – could get away with such blunt rudeness.

He curled his hand around her bicep, small as it was, and urged her gently backward. "C'mon."

"She had her tubes tied today!" Ava went on, voice becoming shrill. "She had her fucking tubes tied for you! And here you are getting your _sandwich_ on with Slutty McBigTits."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Ava, let's go."

"Fine." She backed up a step, relenting to the pressure on her arm. "Not like it makes a difference anyway," now Juice could hear how hurt she sounded. This probably had little, if anything to do with Holly and Tig. "Not like that kinda shit affects you guys."

And then in an instant she had deflated, was spinning around and ducking out of the kitchen. Juice lost his hold on her.

Tig gave him a vicious glare. "Go take care of that shit, dumbass."

"On it."

**-O-**

Tubes tied? What the hell had that little bitch been talking about? _Yelling_ about. Where the hell did she get off?

Of course, these were the thoughts that went through his head as he unlocked the back door to his house and let himself in. "Hol? Where are you?"

No response, but her car was in the drive.

"Holly?" he hardened his voice, heard the nastiness behind it and didn't care. He was sure to stomp extra loud as he went through the living room and down the back hall. But he froze in the threshold of the bedroom.

Holly was on her side, knees and arms pulled into her stomach. Her eyes blinked open slowly, and then her already-ashen face paled further when she noticed him. "Tig -," she started to sit up and then gasped, pressed a hand to her belly and laid back down again. She was always so composed, so put together, unflappable in her serenity, that seeing her like this shook him up. Hard.

"What'd you do?" it came out somewhere between a groan and an accusation.

She sighed. "I just took care of something. So we don't have to worry."

"You had your tubes tied?" which was a dumb question, because he knew it was true at this point.

"Some people should never have kids, and I'm one of them. And you don't want any more."

True: he had two grown girls and he wasn't interested in more, not even with Holly. But for some reason, the thought of sweet, obliging, nurturing Hol never being able to dote on someone who actually deserved such treatment – someone very unlike _him_ – was sobering. Disturbing. Made him…sad, in an unexpected way.

"You're young," he was scowling, could feel the hardness in his face, but the anger had bled out of his words. "I could die tomorrow and then…"

"It wouldn't matter." She sounded so, so tired. "You're the only one who I…and, well…it's better we never have to worry about it."

She had surprised him on quite a few occasions: proving brave when she should have been terrified, lethal when it was against her nature, complacent when she should have run the other way. But Tig didn't know what to say to this. So he didn't say anything, instead sat down on the floor at the end of the bed and just stared at her.

Holly shifted under the scrutiny. "I don't regret it," she assured. "I don't need to reproduce. I don't need to…to…" and then her face crumpled and she put her hands up so he couldn't see her. But he heard the swift intake of breath, the sob that got caught in her throat.

Tig touched her head like he was petting a dog and let her cry herself to sleep. Then he stayed there, stroking her hair, watching her chest rise and fall. Absolutely floored.

**-O-**

Ava was shrugging out of her jacket when she heard the bike in her driveway and she almost flipped the deadbolt on the backdoor. But instead she went to the fridge, uncapped a water bottle and took a long swig, letting the shock of the cold water calm down her system. She'd gone way past looking out for a friend: all the way into psycho territory. And all over her own bullshit. Which made her feel even worse – she hadn't even been crusading on Holly's behalf, but on that of her own broken heart.

Juice entered the kitchen like he'd expected the door to be locked and stumbled through it when it gave way, catching himself against the counter with one gloved hand. "Shit!"

She rolled her eyes and sat down at the table while he righted himself, toed the door shut and pulled of his nighttime riding glasses. "It was open."

"I noticed." He ditched his gloves on the table and then plopped down across from her. He was breathing like he'd jogged up the back steps. "What the hell was that back there?"

She propped her temple on a raised fist and glanced up at him through her lashes. Surely he wasn't so stupid that she had to connect the dots for him. He wore a lopsided expression: he knew this was a product of her own issues, but still wanted an explanation, even if just to satisfy his own curiosity. Juice had one of those honest faces that made him very hard to lie to.

Ava sighed. "I'm just tired of having to keep things secret. Too much hoping and praying going on around here and not enough honesty."

He bobbed his head in agreement, but those big brown eyes didn't stray from hers, so she glanced down at the table.

"You didn't have to follow me back, you know."

"I know."

He was the only one who hadn't fussed and fawned over her, asked her if she was okay, did she need anything, did she feel alright. But she'd caught his looks, those deep, sad, soulful glances he probably shouldn't have been giving her. Juice pitied her, she knew. And sometimes, when the light caught his eyes just right, she thought maybe he wanted her too. Or maybe those were the imaginings of a lonely, horny, hormonal girl.

Sometimes, like the night before, when she lay in bed, listening to the fridge thump and hum out in the kitchen, stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, she wondered how things might have been different if she hadn't been so hell bent on chasing after Hap. If maybe she'd let herself get swallowed up in Juice instead. But then she'd dash the thoughts away, ashamed. Things couldn't have gone any differently than the way they had: of that she was convinced. But she couldn't stop the wondering.

"You want something to drink?"

"No thanks."

She ran her thumb across the peeling polish of her ring fingernail. "Snack?"

"Not really."

Ava sighed, forced herself to make eye contact again, and shivered involuntarily when she did so. Damn, the way he was_ looking_ at her. "I know I was out of line," she said, hoping to get him out of the house. "I get that, okay? It won't happen again."

"Okay."

"Then why are you still sitting here?"

"I…I dunno." This time he glanced away. His adam's apple jackknifed in his throat when he swallowed.

It would be so much easier if this…_thing_…whatever it was, wasn't mutual. "Juice," his head came back to center. "You know, sometimes, I think it'd be so much easier if I'd ended up with you."

He leaned back in his chair, hands braced on the table, clearly surprised at her bluntness.

"We're going with honesty here, right? Well honestly, right now, I hate the stupid club rule about Old Ladies and loyalty. Because I…" she faltered, unable to say it, so she folded her arms and rested her chin on her linked hands on top of the table. "It just sucks."

Juice mirrored her pose so they were on eye level again, and looked cute and goofy, like a little boy. His smile was a little wistful. "Don't worry, I'm not pining away over here."

She returned the grin. "Good."

"He didn't break things off, did he? Before he left. He left you hanging."

"_You have to ask me to. So this is me, telling you, that you have to ask me to wait. I won't be an unwanted burden."_

_It was silent a long moment, Hap not blinking, her not breathing. _

"_I dunno how it can work out," he said at last. "I ain't no family man." And Ava thought he looked truly sorry about that. Not that it was something he wanted or needed, but that maybe he regretted not being able to handle what had been dropped in his lap. He was a handler – he handled things. He didn't walk away from anything…but this wasn't anything. This was a baby. And her. _

_She closed her eyes and nodded. So it was a surprise when he pulled her out of her chair and over into his lap, put his hand on top of her head and tucked her in against his chest like she was a child. _

"_You're a little shit, makin' demands and all." He chuckled. "But yeah. I'm askin'."_

"No," she told Juice. "Not hanging. Waiting, Patiently waiting."

**TBC**


	30. Chapter 30

**Second to last chapter.**

…

_**ATF agent dies in tragic accident**_

_On Monday, authorities responded to a 911 call off I-5 just south of the California/Oregon border. Motorists had spotted the trunk of a sedan half-hidden in the underbrush at the base of a forty foot drop off the shoulder. Fire-Rescue found one causality amid the wreckage – the driver – who was later identified as a field agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms: Stanley Holt. _

_Preliminary reports indicate that Agent Holt had a blood-alcohol level of .077, and his intoxication is believed to be the cause of the crash. No other evidence was found to indicate the involvement of a third party, or any foul play. _

_ATF headquarters has issued a statement as to the validity of their agent screening process in response to claims that this isn't the first time a federal agent has proven to be a hazard to himself and others…_

Jax refolded her newspaper and set it beside his breakfast plate. He smiled as he picked up his toast and took a generous bite.

No third party involvement. Beautiful, Hap, just beautiful.

**-O-**

The road was an endless black ribbon of asphalt stretching out before him, and the bike loved it, growled happily through every downshift, every curve. It knew this stretch of highway, just like he knew the criss-cross of veins in the back of his hands. He'd gone from Tacoma to Charming so many times he could have ridden the fourteen hours with his eyes shut. The wind whispered past his ears like an old lover, murmuring her approval of his return. In his mind's eye, that old lover had brown eyes, and long legs, and she wasn't so much _old_ as familiar to a point of being a living, breathing part of him.

_Missing _wasn't the right word, neither was _longing_, but after those, he groped through his limited vocabulary and didn't know how to describe it. He could find sex on the road, had in fact. And he wasn't a man who got lonely. But Hap had long ago stopped trying to put a label on the tranquility of being near his Ava Rae. She was in his blood in a way that only a child could be, but occupied corners of his mind where only a woman could belong. The killing and the loving…who was he to draw lines about propriety? He was a soldier for his club. He got to keep the girl he'd kept alive. And he was ready to go home…to whatever awaited him.

"_You've gotta see your kid, man,"_ Kozik's face had been almost reverent when he'd pulled the birth announcement out of his wallet and unfolded it for him to see. _"You've got to."_

The kid was a product of his own decisions, so he wasn't going to run from that responsibility. Even if it wasn't what he wanted. What Ava had gone through while he was away…yeah, he could be there. Wherever else he failed, he was good at _being_. That he could handle.

At least, he thought he could.

**-O-**

"You're such a good boy. Good, good little boy…" Holly didn't do that obnoxious cooing when she talked to the baby, of which Tig was glad. He tried to steer completely clear on the days she kept Ava's kid, didn't show up until after one when Ava got back from work and the hand-off had been made. But today he'd needed a duffel he'd left under the bed, so he'd had to brave the smell of formula and dirty diapers and sound of squealing baby to get what he needed.

Holly stood in the kitchen when he emerged, the three-month-old all bundled up in her arms while she fed it a bottle. _Him_, he reminded himself. He'd called the thing "it" one too many times and Holly had snapped at him. Holly was absolutely in love with Sam. She talked to him like he was an adult; that even, smooth voice of hers falling on little ears that didn't understand, but it never phased her.

She was mom material, that one. But she had a little scar right beneath the satin waistband of her panties that told a very different story.

"You alright?" Tig asked before he could stop himself.

She glanced up from the baby, face still all warm and glowing. "Yeah. Why?"

He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Nothin'. See ya tonight."

**-O-**

She worked half days, and sometimes worried that her boss was just phasing her further and further out until she was let go completely. But Ava didn't care. Going nine to five without seeing her boy would have been too hard to bear.

Samuel James Morales – Junior – had come into the world at nine-fifty-three p.m. on April seventh and he'd gotten the royal MC welcome. His blue reaper beanie had passed into her hand straight from Jax's, a smile on her cousin's face. Every stab of pain, every barely-contained scream, every drop of sweat had been forgotten when the doctor had put him, slimy and bloody, still attached to the umbilical cord, up on her stomach before they'd whisked him away so the both of them could be cleaned up.

She wanted to think that had Hap been there with her, if he'd had the chance to cradle that precious little downy head in his hand, he wouldn't be so hell bent on not being a family man. Hell, she didn't care if it was about them as a family, she just prayed that he'd be able to love his own son. The way she did.

"Was he good?" she asked Holly as she took a freshly-changed, sleepy-looking Sam into her arms, and rocked him gently against her chest.

"Always," Holly said, eyes never leaving the baby. She reached up and tucked his light summer blanket in under his feet – Ava had felt it slipping – and smiled. "I swear, he's just the happiest baby."

Again, her heart squeezed tight for the other Old Lady. Even though procreation with Tig would have been a bad idea, losing the option of ever having a child with anyone felt like heavy, depressing stuff. A few weeks after her operation, when Holly had seemed more like herself, she'd said that there were plenty of homeless orphans out there, and that why should she retain her right to reproduce when the better thing would be to adopt? Ava hadn't had a response to that. But she didn't figure Tig was going to let her adopt a baby regardless.

"I really appreciate you watching him for me." Ava was making a point of giving verbal thanks to the people who made a difference in her life. She'd leaned on all of them hard the last year.

"Always." Holly gave Sam one more smile and a little wave though he wasn't to the waving-back stage yet. Her eyes flashed up to Ava's, losing some of their sparkle. "You coming by the clubhouse tonight?"

In the middle of her second trimester, club bashes had lost all appeal for her. Trying to hide her baby bump under loose clothes had made her feel fat and frumpy. And the latest and sluttiest batch of crow eaters hadn't given her an ounce of respect – if she was on Old Lady, where was her Old Man? And the last party she'd attended, she'd caught a glimpse across the room of a chick sliding into Juice's lap, grinding on him. She hadn't been able to put a label on the emotion that had caused her hands to curl into fists, but her stomach had tightened up until she was queasy, so she'd gone home with the windows down, sucking in cool night air. Home to her empty house, her empty bed.

She didn't know what tonight's occasion was, but she wasn't going to attend. Ava strapped Sam into his car seat and climbed behind the wheel of her truck. Her bed might still be empty, but her house most certainly was not. The love of her life was still bald…he just weighed about twelve pounds instead of the one-eighty he once had.

**-O-**

_Hap's on his way home. _That's all Juice had to say. He just had to walk into her kitchen when she answered the door, pass word along as per Jax's request, and then go straight back to the clubhouse to await the killer's return.

But when Ava opened the door at his knock, he smelled something in the oven that might possibly be edible. She was wearing a red tank top that looked old, the hem frayed, and it flaunted the fact that she breast fed the baby and had the jugs to prove it. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, loose scraps framing her face. She tugged off an oven mitt and waved him in. "I made bread, you can be my taste tester."

In his mind, he waved her off with a smile, delivered his message and backed out. But in actuality, he closed the door behind him and sat down at her kitchen table. "What kind of bread?"

"Honey wheat." He watched her move to the stove, eyes on her ass and not whatever she was doing. "It's got actual honey drizzled on the top. I think it'll be good."

He'd been in a weird head space since the call had come through that morning. Happy had been away for a year, and in that time span, Juice had been content to just lurk around in the shadows. He wondered if, deep down, he'd doubted the guy would ever come back. And now that arrival was imminent, he felt desperate and a little frustrated. This had almost been a chance for…hell, he didn't know what. A chance for him to be an idiot.

A plate landed under his nose: two slices of bread that still steamed from the oven, buttered thickly. It looked amazing, and he was a meat guy, not a grain-eater. Regardless, he pushed it away, and when he glanced up, she was already looking at him, butter knife still held loosely in one hand. She didn't ask him "what?" because she had the first twenty-five times they'd played out this exact dance. His answer was always a shrug, so she'd stopped asking, just waited, and looked…lonely.

But he couldn't make himself say it. If he said it, it'd be true. And then any opportunity – and it was amazing how nice just an opportunity could be – would be gone.

Finally Ava sighed, set the knife down and put her hands in her back pockets. "This is the part where you say whatever Jax wanted you to say, and then I make some excuse to keep you around for a few hours." She grinned. She was really pretty when she smiled. She should smile more. As he stayed tongue-tied, her grin slowly faded. "What is it, Juice? Is it -," her eyes went wide, and he hated to see her panic.

"He's coming home." Her breath caught, but her face didn't change. Like a deer in headlights. "Hap's coming home," he clarified.

He didn't expect the reaction she gave him. Ava pulled out the chair beside him and collapsed into it. Her expression remained impassive, calm, scary-blank. "When?"

"Dunno. Just that he's done with…whatever."

She blinked a few times and then finally sucked in a deep breath, giving the sense that she'd been paused and someone had finally hit the play button. "Wow." She massaged her forehead. "Damn."

When her eyes cut up to his, there wasn't joy in them. Fear. Anger. Sadness. She leaned forward on her elbow and he knew – though not the only thing clouding her mind at the moment – that lost opportunity was there for her too. They shared it; it shimmered between them, shiny and perfect for the span of time between now and the moment Hap's bike pulled into the drive.

She was the one who leaned forward, but he took the next step, slid his hand into her hair and pulled her into his chair, into his lap, brought their mouths together. It was as if no time had passed since the last time they'd done this, however many years ago that had been. There was no hesitance from her; her lips came apart and molded against his, jaw opening at the gentle probe of his tongue. They fit. He knew, as she rocked against him and he let his hands go wandering down her arms and further south, that they'd fit in other ways too. That if he stood up and laid her down on the table –

Ava pulled away first, and rested her forehead against his, breathing hard. Juice squeezed her hips, but she didn't come back to him. He tilted his head back so he could look up at her and saw tears glittering in her eyes. "I…" her voice caught and she shook her head.

He sighed. "It's okay."

"But it's not. It's not fair to you. Or to -," she looked like she was afraid to say it.

"To you."

"I'll never _not_ love him."

"I know. But maybe you don't love him the same way you used to."

"Maybe I don't," she said in a barely audible whisper, glancing away. "I'm sorry, Juice. I'm so sorry."

**-O-**

"Mom?"

"Back here, baby."

Ava pushed the door off the kitchen closed and swapped Sam's carseat/carrier to her other hand as she walked through her parent's house, seeking out her mother's disembodied voice. She had the sense that age and time were never going to diminish her need for Maggie's comfort and advice: moms were magical like that.

She was in the third of the house's three bedrooms, the one that had been converted into a home office, and was in front of the computer, wearing her little tortoise shell reading glasses she hated. Ava set Sam's carrier on the floor and sat cross-legged beside him.

"What's up?" Maggie asked without turning, frowning as she studied whatever she was working on. Most likely their online bank account.

"Hap's coming home."

Maggie dropped that pencil she'd held loosely in one hand and swiveled her chair around, glasses nearly sliding off her nose as she fumbled them up onto her head. Her shock made Ava feel very guilty about her own reaction to the same news. "What? Are you serious? When?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Juice just said that it would be soon, but didn't have any details."

"Well, shit," Maggie smiled in a disbelieving sort of way. "That's great!"

"Yeah, it is."

Her mother's hazel eyes shifted over to the happily resting baby and then came back again. Her smile disappeared. "But…?"

"But what?"

"Your face has 'but' written all over it."

Ava sighed. "Thanks, Mom. I always wanted to be a buttface."

"Oh," Maggie physically brushed the quip aside with a wave of her hand. "Stop being evasive, you little shit."

Ava felt her lips twitch up into a tiny smile.

"You're supposed to be over the moon, am I right?" When she didn't get a response, she sighed, face softening. "I get it," she said quietly.

But did she? Did she understand how the news of his homecoming had filled her with apprehension and doubt, that she felt guilty because she couldn't be excited about this?

"Your dad and I were apart for ninety-nine percent of your first thirteen years," Maggie reminded. "And absence doesn't make the heart grow fonder. It just makes you question all the reasons you're staying. You start looking for legitimate excuses to get out." Her smile was soft and tinged with sadness. "I know, honey. Sam is your whole world now, and you did it by yourself, and Hap coming back changes all that."

"Plus he hates kids."

Maggie shrugged. "He never hated you. How's he gonna hate Sammy? No man ever hated his own kid."

"Even if that's true…" Ava glanced down at her toes, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear out of nervous habit. "I'm not sure he can love me, now that I've got Sam."

It was quiet a full second. "Do you want him to?"

Her head snapped up and try as she might, she couldn't gauge her mother's expression.

"Does Juice play into this equation at all?"

"We never -,"

"Not saying you did." More silence. "Ava, do you know why I was okay with you and Hap together?"

Part of her wondered why she'd let the conversation get this far, because none of it was fun to consider, but the other part of her was wildly curious. And for reason, she was determined to continue down this path she'd struck down, even if the knowledge she gained was destructive. "Honestly, I thought it was because you'd lost your mind."

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "Maybe in part, sure. But it was because I knew I wouldn't have to worry about you. Is he too old for you? Yes. Is it weird and creepy? Of course. But…Hap loved you – loves you – in his own little Hap way. His heart may be made of stone, but he has one. And I knew that he'd always keep you safe, sheltered, well fed. You'd never be off acting like a teenage dumbass with him. You'd never have to explain why you…are the way you are. It was easy. Seamless. I knew he'd take care of you the way…a parent would."

Ava gulped down the sudden lump in her throat. Maggie's voice had become shaky, the way she rubbed her hands together signaled shame. Ava had often thought there was something paternal about Hap's affection, and hearing it from a third party made it more real. More disturbing.

"I think, though," her mom went on, "that he never took care of you in other ways." Regret was etched across her features, making the lines around her mouth seem deeper. "He's a cold man."

"Mom -," she shook her head, glanced over at Sam. "Don't give me an out. I made a choice."

"And if we lived in a world outside this MC, I'd tell you that you made that choice at a really young age, and that sometimes people grow and change their minds."

Ava closed her eyes, tried to conjure an image of that "world outside this MC", and couldn't. "And what are you telling me instead?"

Maggie leaned forward and patted her on the head, smoothed her hair. "Wait until he's home. And talk to him. It's been a long hard year by yourself – give it some time."

**-O-**

Holly had been around long enough now that everyone knew who she was, who she belonged to. So she was free to move about clubhouse parties as she wanted to, unhindered by clueless out-of-towners who thought she was a free piece of ass for the grabbing.

Tonight, some of the Fresno and Rogue River guys were in town to welcome Happy back to Redwood. The bald, former Nomad was the guest of the hour, shaking hands and trading hugs with his brothers, smiling wider than Holly could remember. Actually, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him smile.

All of the guys put the club first, and she knew that; they stayed late at the clubhouse, spent time with their brothers, didn't let their good times be hindered. But somehow, after having rocked little Sam that afternoon, knowing what Happy had to go home to and to see him here, without his Old Lady and the new child he should have been dying to see, depressed her.

She turned on the tap and ran water into the heavy glass mugs she'd picked up out in the common room. They were sticky with beer, and alcohol was something she was familiar with. Good with. She drizzled Palmolive on the sponge at the edge of the sink and began washing, the productive, familiar activity soothing.

She heard boots come into the room and correctly assumed it was one of the guys in search of a snack: the fridge opened and then closed behind her.

"What the hell? Let the hangarounds do that shit," Tig sounded peeved, and Holly reprimanded herself for not having recognized the entrance of her Old Man sooner.

She smiled out of reflex even though he couldn't see her. "I don't mind."

She felt his fingers hook into her belt loop and he tugged her back away from the sink, suds dripping off her hands onto the floor. Holly bit her lip to withhold her sigh as he turned her around with his hands on her hips.

"What's got into you?" he was giving her one of his not-really-angry-more-like-confused frowns. Which she normally thought was cute.

But not tonight. "Nothing's _got into_ me," she insisted.

His eyes narrowed further, into skinny blue slits.

"Do you want me to take my top off and take a spin on the pole?"

"Don't be a smartass. You're in here hiding in the goddamn kitchen. So sue me for pretending to care," he snapped and made a move for the door.

_Damn it, _Holly thought. He _was_ showing concern, in his own Tig way, and shutting him out wasn't the way to reward that kind of semi-normal behavior. "Tig, wait," she snagged his sleeve with a soapy hand, leaving behind a wet patch on the fabric. "You're right. I'm being antisocial."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, gaze lingering one long, still moment, then nodded, satisfied that she'd admitted it. His eyes skipped out the door toward the raucous party. The base line of the music thumped up through the floor, tingled the soles of her feet. He looked at her again. "This about the kid?"

She was a bit taken aback by his perception. "No…" she said slowly. "More about…wishing people would appreciate what they have."

He leaned toward her. "That's none of your business, Hol. Don't forget that."

"Yeah," she sighed, releasing him. "I won't."

**-O-**

Saying it was good to be home was an understatement. Hap could feel the soreness leaching out of his exhausted muscles as he made the rounds and downed shots. Jax had clapped him on the back and leaned in close, "dunno how we could run this shit without you, bro." Even Chibs had been congenial. Bobby had poured him a combination of liquors he couldn't identify and wasn't sure he wanted to.

Juice, though, was so distant and cold it was laughable. So around midnight, when the nerd was good and tanked up, eyes just as glassy as they were indignant, Hap wasn't surprised that he got up the courage to confront him.

"You been home yet?" Juice asked far-too-loudly as he came up to the sofa where Hap had been parked for the last half hour. Bobby made a half-assed excuse and vacated the area instantly, leaving them alone.

Hap shrugged and took another swig of his beer. "Whatcha call this? Thought I was home."

"I mean home to your _Old Lady_." He spat the title like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "You gone to see your kid yet?"

Oh, Juice, you fucking dumbass. "Not your business," Hap said dismissively.

Juice came around and sat down on the coffee table in front of him. His eyes looked like they were about to bug out of his head, there was a vein popped out in his neck. "No, no, no, _noooo_, you made it my business. And I had to watch her deal with this all by herself 'cause you _told me_ to _watch out for her_."

"Was she all by herself. Or were you there?" he asked icily.

"Don't accuse me of -,"

"You're yelling, stupid shit."

He clamped his lips shut and his nostrils flared when he exhaled. Hap almost felt bad for him because, when his buzz wore off, Juice would regret that he'd run his mouth, had put both he and Ava in a bad place. Made things awkward. But now, he became so serious it was comical, leaned forward. "Don't hurt her, Hap. If she wants to walk away, let her go."

**-O-**

_Click. _The soft sound of the backdoor latch sliding into place woke her, and alerted her to the terrifying realization that she'd forgotten to set the alarm yet again. Rather than startling off the intruder, the screech of the system hadn't been activated at all.

Ava sat up in bed, still groggy, disoriented, heart hammering. The house was bathed in darkness, only moonlight through the parted blinds enabling her to see the nightstand beside her. She fumbled the drawer open and heard heavy footfalls in her kitchen. _Shit!_ Her fingers found the textured grip of the .45 beside the bottle of ibuprofen and curled around it, wrist trembling as she hefted the big gun up into her lap.

The thump of boot treads came into the living room, muffled by the carpet now. She thumbed the safety off and slid out of bed without making a sound. Her worry was for Sam, sleeping soundly in his crib just across the hall. She didn't know what this bastard was after – her house didn't look like it held anything worth stealing from the exterior – but he wasn't getting her baby.

As she tiptoed to the door of her bedroom, an even more horrifying thought rattled her, quickened her breath to a gasp. What if this was personal? Visions of IRA hitmen in ski masks filled her head, ratcheting the panic up to a new level of intensity. Oh, God. What if there was more than one? What if he had backup outside? What if –

A shadow moved in the hall. Through her cracked door, she watched a man take shape in the darkness. He was just a faint outline, more a sense that a human was standing outside her door. He – it – moved toward the nursery, just a little.

Ava racked the slide on the .45 in one fluid motion and trained it on the shadow's head, pushing her door wide. "I'm gonna blow your goddamn brains out if you take one more step," she hissed through her teeth.

A second passed that felt like ten minutes, and then the shadow laughed. Just a low, deep chuckle that sounded like a panther growling.

"Good girl."

She knew his voice, maybe better than she knew her own. But she didn't drop the gun. Not until he'd moved away from the nursery and stepped into the wedge of moonlight that spilled out of her open doorway. The darkness fell away from his face and the harsh cut of his brow ridge, his cheekbones, his jaw, were etched in crystal-horror-movie perfection. Hap was home.

Ava's arm had all the strength of overcooked pasta and it fell to her side, the gun in her hand suddenly too heavy. A hundred thoughts raced through her head, but all she said was, "hi."

"Hey."

A shudder rattled all the way down her spine and her toes curled, digging into the carpet. But when he took a step toward her, she had the distinct impression there wasn't anything sexual about the gleam in his eye. She took a step back and her heart broke when she realized that she was pulling away from him. But she took another, and set the .45 on her nightstand. He followed and his limp, she noticed, was the worst she'd ever seen it. It was a miracle he was even walking.

"Hap -,"

He grabbed onto her wrist with a speed she hadn't counted on, squeezed until she felt the delicate bones grind together. "Hap!" He shoved her toward the wall and yanked on her arm, keeping her from crashing against it at the last second with a force she swore gave her whiplash. Her teeth clacked together and she bit the inside of her lip, tasted blood. Shocked, terrified tears pooled behind her eyes. "_What are you doing_?" she shrieked. The baby came awake with a howl across the hall, the sound echoed in the crackling baby monitor on her dresser.

In answer, amidst his son's screams, he stepped up against her, pushed her back against the wall and pinned her there with his body. The whites of his eyes made the irises stand out in black contrast. His breath was warm across her face as one of his hands circled around her throat and squeezed just shy of cutting off her air. He reeked of alcohol.

Was he going to kill her? Or just beat her within an inch of her life? Had he…shit, had he found out about Juice? But she hadn't done anything with Juice! Except let him kiss her. Had he…oh, God, what if Juice was…and it was all her fault. Tears streamed down her face. "Happy, please…"

"I'll try not to break anything," his voice was calm, and that made the whole thing more disturbing. "Where you want it?"

Sam continued to wail, his cries getting louder, more high pitched. The sound pulled all her maternal heart strings and upped her panic. "Want what?" she dug her nails into his wrist. "Jesus Christ, why are you doing this?"

"Because," he put his face in hers until his eyes were all she saw, "when you go running to Daddy and Jax and Juice with a black eye, they'll let you off the hook. They'll let you be someone else's Old Lady."

She sucked in a deep breath, or at least tried to, his hand prevented it, and attempted to process what he'd said. But no amount of processing would dull the blow, or leave her any less furious. Rage coursed through her veins, blocked out the feel of his hands on her, drowned out Sam's screams. She was stricken with the overwhelming urge to cause him physical pain that rivaled her own emotional hurts. She kicked him in the left knee as hard as she could.

He went down the way she'd hoped, recovered quickly from the collapse, though, and rolled into a sitting position leaned back against the bed, teeth gritted. He looked as if, despite the pain, he could still come after her again, but it gave her the chance she needed to stagger away and flip on the lights. The warm glow of the bedside lamps was not forgiving: he looked creased and leathered, had a new scar running down the side of his face from the corner of his eye to the place where his jaw met his ear. And it made the both of them, and their situation, look comically stupid.

Ava straightened her sleepwear camisole and went down the hall to the kitchen, pulled an ice pack and bottle from their respective locations in the GE and returned to the bedroom. Hap was still sitting where she'd left him. He didn't glance up. "Here, asshole," she flung the frozen gel pack at him and went to her screaming child.

Sam was on his back, little arms in the air, face red as he cried as hard as his baby lungs would allow. His cheeks, like hers, were slick with tears, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand before she scooped him up. "Oh, it's okay, baby," she said in a shaky voice, tucking him up on her chest, hand on the back of his head. "Shh. You're fine. There's a good boy." He hiccupped, but the great desperate peals of sound died down. She patted his back and swayed side to side. "It's okay, Sammy. That's it. It's all okay."

When she sat down in the rocker, she wondered if she'd actually made the decision to sit or if her legs had just given out. Either way, Sam didn't care. He sniffled as she moved him into the crook of one arm and offered the bottle to him. He latched on hungrily and she wished she'd just breast fed, because now she'd have to pump in the morning so he had bottles to take to Holly's. He ate happily – he was a good eater – and watching him brought her immeasurable comfort.

She heard Hap get slowly to his feet across the hall, heard him curse softly. And then his uneven footfalls came across the carpet until he was propped up in the doorway of the nursery.

Ava glanced up at him and, now that anger was fading, all she felt for him was pity._ He's a cold man_, she reminded herself of her mother's earlier words. And he had no fucking clue how to react intelligently to what he'd come home to: a grown Old Lady with a kid, who he'd left alone for a year with a man he feared was a rival. His expression did little to mask how badly his leg pained him. And his black eyes were sorry in their own way. She couldn't blame him for having fucked up DNA and poor social skills.

"I waited for you," she said. "I thought you knew me well enough not to question my loyalty to you."

"I wasn't doing that." Which implied that, had he thought she'd strayed, this would have gone a very different way.

"You're not fair to me," she said quietly. "You stay gone a year and you come home with all these assumptions." Ava shook her head. "I don't deserve that."

"But ain't it what you want?"

"To be flung up against a wall and strangled?" her quick huff of laughter was incredulous, and not humored.

He scowled. "To be over."

Ava sighed. Frustrated, angry tears burned the backs of her eyes once again, but she blinked hard, held them in. "You know what I want, Hap?" the smile that touched her lips was false. Pained. "I want, despite all the crazy bullshit in this life, to have something to smile about. I mean, really, truly, make-my-face-hurt kind of smile." He blinked. "I want to learn how to cook, Thanksgiving dinner flying solo level of cooking. I want to write a story that goes somewhere, wrap it up nice and neat. I want to see my name on the cover of a book." Her boldness swelled as her list grew. "I want my son to be happy, to laugh and grow and have everything he ever needs. I wanna figure out how to get along with my dad. And I want to roll over at night and have my man kiss me for no reason." She sighed again, so hard her lungs felt empty afterward. "I want to love and be loved. And I want you to love me, but I just don't know if that's something you're capable of."

Silence was his trademark, but this time she got the impression that he was quiet because he was stunned.

She was exhausted. Waking at three a.m., struggling with him, dealing with the tsunami of emotion that had slammed into her left her eyelids flagging. "I'm glad you came home, even if you didn't come home to me. We can…talk…or something tomorrow. In a few days. I dunno. Whatever you wanna do. But I think you should know Sam. Whatever happens to us, you…you'll wanna know your son. He's more important than anything else now."

He nodded, glanced down at the toes of his boots.

"You can crash in the bed if you want. I'll stay in here with him."

"Nah," his voice was sandpaper over her wounds. "I can ride the couch."

She pressed her heels into the carpet and set the rocker back and forth as he retreated down the hall, his uneven steps making her feel sorry…but not guilty. She was done feeling guilty when it came to him. Tonight had more than proved it was a waste. Sam kicked his little feet and it pulled her back to the task at hand.

_Daddy's home_.

**-O-**

Her breathing was a soft, shallow, familiar pattern. Not too different than it had been when she was a little girl. Everything else, though, was vastly different. Hap didn't know if she'd changed little by little and his proximity had prevented him from seeing the transformation from child to woman, or if it had happened within the past year when she had carried and delivered his child. He'd stared at the ceiling, the springs of the old sofa digging into his spine, thinking about that look she'd given him while she'd held the kid, until he couldn't take it anymore.

So now he stood beside the bed, watched her sleep, marveling a bit that she hadn't locked the door to keep him out.

Hap pulled his shirt up over his head and let it drop, unbuckled his belt and let his jeans hit the floor too. The mattress dipped, the bedframe groaned as he climbed in behind her, and Ava woke with a startled murmur. "I won't touch you this time," he assured, and it felt like the strangest thing he'd ever said to her.

Ava rolled onto her back, sighed, rubbed her eyes, and the moved over so she faced him, a palm between her cheek and the pillow, her gaze dark and reserved in the predawn darkness. "Why does it feel like we've been here a hundred times before?"

He smirked. "Cause we have."

"I figured you'd be apprehensive about coming back. But I didn't think you'd attack me."

He'd crossed a line, and he knew it. There were things you didn't do, and threatening your Old Lady like that was one of them. Especially when he considered it was Ava. That it was her windpipe he'd tried to crush in his palm. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

It was quiet a moment, the four a.m. trilling of songbirds outside the window the only sound save their breathing.

"You were alone on the road too long. Too much blood. Too much violence." She lifted her hand as if she meant to touch him and he thought of the new scar on his face. Sal Rubio had fought back, the fucker. But she withdrew. "I want you to know," she swallowed hard, "that even if we can't make it work, it's not because I don't love you. Moving forward – apart or together – however we are…I have no regrets."

Hap sighed. "You think you're all grown up now, don't you?"

She didn't smile.

"You know what I think?"

Her brows twitched.

"That I don't wanna talk about that 'apart or together' shit till tomorrow."

**TBC**


	31. Chapter 31

**Tomorrow…Two Weeks Later**

"Hey, Sammy-boy!" Chibs took the baby from her as she was sitting down at the picnic table.

"Say 'hi, Granda'," she'd turned into one of those people who supplied her kid's voice for him because he couldn't speak yet. At least she didn't baby-talk. Ava offered Sam up to her dad and plopped down onto the bench across from Holly.

"You mind if I take him for a bit?"

It made her smile to hear him ask. "Nope. Some adult time would be nice."

"Come on, then. We'll leave the girls to it." As he walked away, he continued to talk to the baby and again Ava was struck by how good he was with children. His own daughter may have lacked a father figure growing up, but not because there wasn't love there. It just got hidden behind stubbornness and pride.

"They're cute together," Holly observed. "I've always gotten those good grandpa vibes from Chibs."

Ava shrugged with her eyebrows, lacking the energy to pursue the comeback she wanted to give. She propped an elbow on the tabletop and was content to just sit, take a deep breath, glance around the T-M lot and enjoy the moment of freedom. Sam may have been the light of her life, but she needed little breaks here and there.

"How've you been?"

It was a loaded question and she knew Tig's girl had meant it as one. Ava twitched a non-smile, eyes burrowing into the dark hollows of the garage bays across from the clubhouse, searching for…something. Someone. "Good," she said slowly. "Sam's finally started sleeping through the night, so -,"

"Ava." Holly's big green eyes were almost stern, which was laughable. Holly didn't _do_ stern. "Not talking about Sam."

She chuckled. "We're not?"

The look she earned was so full of spark and fire; she could have sworn she wasn't looking at the same girl she'd met at a clubhouse party who'd meekly slunk away, stuttering apologies.

"Okay, okay," Ava relented. "I'm…marginal. To tell the truth, I'm not sure how to handle any of this."

Holly leaned across the table conspiratorially, dropping her voice. "Has he come back by at all?"

Somehow, Ava had managed to fall asleep that night with Hap beside her. When a nightmare had finally roused her at sunrise, she'd found him gone, the sheets beside her cool to the touch, and hadn't been surprised. Slowly, the pedestal she'd put him on long ago had begun to weather. The night of his return, his hand around her throat, the thing had finally tipped over, all its pretty marble contours smashing against the ground. She hadn't told anyone, not even Holly who was the least likely to gab. She'd just said that they were "adjusting to him being home", leaving out all the darker details.

They'd only spoken once since. She'd passed him on the lot one afternoon and he'd asked, "you doin' a'ight?"

"Yep."

And on they'd gone, not as lovers, partners, parents. Just people occupying the same space at the same time. What scared her was the way it hadn't even stung that badly.

"No," she said to Holly with a small shake of her head. "And I don't figure he will. I think we're done."

"Done?" Holly sat back, clearly appalled. "But…you can't be! He's…and you're….this isn't right, Ava."

"We passed 'right' about five minutes after the first kiss. This might be the most 'right' we've ever been."

She frowned, or scowled more like it, shoulders hunching, brows knitting together.

"What?"

"What happened to you?"

It was Ava's turn to frown. "You don't wanna know."

"No, I mean, where's the Ava I met two years ago?" Holly folded her arms. "Giving me shit about loyalty, acting better than me because you were a _real_ Old Lady."

Had she done that? Yeah, she had, but that had been before…everything. "Well, I was a little shit then," she said. "Sorry."

Holly sighed. "I don't want an apology – little late for it by the way. But I didn't expect this out of you."

"Expect what?"

"Giving up. You and Happy are…_wrong_. Crazy. You guys wrote the book on fucked-up."

Ava rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks."

She frowned. "But that's the thing." She shook her head, eyes flitting off toward the garage. "You guys love each other so much it doesn't matter how fucked up it is." When she faced forward again, her expression was sad. "You make me feel like wrong can be okay if it's the right kind."

Ava chewed at her lip, latent emotion welling up in her gut. "Pretty sure you got that off a Hallmark card," she joked, but it fell flat. "I dunno what you want me to say, Hol. I think maybe, sometimes, wrong is just wrong. Even if it took me my whole life to figure that out."

She didn't believe it, of course, but she said it.

**-O-**

Hap still had his nights and days mixed up. Getting back on any kind of schedule had been difficult. Ava had been right: too much time alone, too much violence. For the first time in memory, his head felt fuzzy. He wasn't rattled, but unattached, disconnected. And he knew that was a dangerous head space for him – whatever dark, nasty things he did, he still operated under a code. There were rules to living the life he did. Without the everyday, normal reminders, without any bright and shiny, it was almost as if he'd forgotten how to function. He'd done things like, oh, say, try to choke his Old Lady.

It had to be noon – the sun was bright, but not slanting in through the windows – and he was just stirring. He bunched the covers down around his waist, leaned back against the cheap headboard of the bed in the dorm he was occupying and lit up his first smoke of the day. He'd slept alone. No one shared his bed, not once he was done with them. The night he'd come home, he'd slipped out of bed, Ava still sleeping, and went back to the clubhouse, had roused a chick with a boot to her ribs and drug her back to a room. She'd been half asleep, but hadn't protested when he'd pressed her face down into the pillow.

In the days that followed, he'd realized that he was utterly, completely empty inside. Hollow. The Tin Man.

There was a loud knock at his door, and he was still pulling the cigarette from between his lips when it opened uninvited. Chibs stepped through the threshold, the kid in his arms. The Scot didn't so much as spare him a look. "Here," he came over to the bed and laid the baby on the messy sheets between his feet. "I'll be back in ten."

Hap watched, silent, as he left the room and shut the door behind him, then glanced down at the bundle of tiny human. It – he, yeah, it was a he, what with being Sam and all – laid on his back with his arms stuck up in the air, making some kind of snuffling noise, but didn't move otherwise. Hap didn't know when the crawling started, but obviously, the kid wasn't to that stage yet.

He took another drag and watched the baby start to squirm through the stream of exhaled smoke that left his lips. Once the legs started going, he knew it was only a matter of time before he started to cry. "Shit."

"_Please, Hap," _he heard Maggie's voice in his head. _"Just for a little while. She's a good baby."_

The cigarette went in the ashtray and Hap picked him up under the arms like Mags had shown him once upon a time. His face was starting to get red, eyes scrunched up. "No screaming," he said firmly, and because he knew that babies didn't care about direct orders, he set the thing up on his shoulder like you were supposed to so it didn't start to make a bunch of noise. It – he – was warm, was wearing something blue and fluffy. The fussing died down. Kid was spoiled, Ava probably held him too much and now he couldn't go without human contact.

Hap shifted him around so he was held in the crook of one elbow, so he could look at him…why, he didn't know, just felt compelled. He – Sam – had brown eyes. Like his mom. Like him too he guessed. Babies had small, oddly proportioned features, but he thought maybe his nose looked familiar. Maybe. He didn't know.

His mom would have been ecstatic. By the end, Noelle had given up on grandchildren, but he knew she'd been sad about that fact. He didn't understand why that shit was so important to women, why they had this need to have little parasites in footsie pajamas who drained their bodies and pocket books.

"I don't get it," he didn't realize he'd said it aloud until the words were echoing against the walls.

Sam went still, brown eyes moving around. Babies knew voices, at least he thought they probably did…hadn't someone told him that? "I know, I sound kinda scary, kid," he said, smiling darkly; he'd been told that before.

The door opened again and Hap didn't believe it had truly been ten minutes. Chibs lingered in the doorway a moment, sighing through his nostrils. "Cute lil' bugger, isn't he?"

Hap didn't respond.

With another sigh, or maybe he was just easily winded these days, the VP came into the room and gestured for the baby. Hap handed him over, struck by the disturbing knowledge that he and Chibs were both related to him – to Sam. But his name wasn't Filip, no, it was Sam. Like his.

"You know," Chibs said, rocking his grandson as he moved back to the door. "It ain't much fun watchin' another man raise your kid. Don't do like I did, brother. "

**-O-**

"Is it about ready?"

Juice slammed the hood of her truck closed and nodded. "Yeah. I topped off your wiper fluid too. It was getting low."

Ava offered him a tight smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Things had been strained since the afternoon in her kitchen, and she hated that. Even when they'd blurred those friendship lines, it had never been awkward between them. She didn't know for sure, but she had a feeling he'd been the one to set a drunken Hap off on a rampage the night he'd come home.

She watched him wipe his hands on the front of his T-M shirt and walk around to the open driver door of her Ford, pulled the paper floor mat out he'd used to keep from tracking his dirty boot prints over her carpet. His eyes flashed up to hers for the briefest of seconds, and then he moved away, putting some distance between them as he trashed the crumpled mat. "You doing okay? Sam?"

"We're both good."

He nodded. Hands landed on his lips, then he folded his arms, then put his hands on his hips again. _Oh, Juice_, she thought. "So, uh…you and Hap. What's that looking like?"

Ava shrugged. "Right now, it's not looking like anything."

His eyes found hers again, this time brimming with hope. He scratched at his mohawk. "You know, they opened this new restaurant in Lodi, and -,"

"Juice."

A slow, sad smile spread across his face. "it's gonna be a 'no', isn't it?"

"I'm sorry. I just think…it'll be better if I try to go this thing alone for a while."

**-O-**

"Tara," the doctor glanced up and saw Margaret Murphy's head and shoulders hanging into her office through the cracked door. Of the two Margarets in her life, this one was actually easier to deal with. "There's someone downstairs asking for you. One of Jax's…friends."

It was amusing and a little touching that, despite their rocky start, the hospital admin felt it was her duty to protect Tara from the club within the walls of the hospital. Sure, it wasn't exactly good for morale to see a bunch of bikers roving the halls, but Tara knew there was a personal concern there too. "You can send him up," she said, wondering if it was the new prospect coming back about his broken thumb again.

"Okay," Margaret's response was hesitant, but she ducked out, the clip of her flats receding down the tiled hallway.

A few minutes later, a loud knock rattled her door. "Jesus," she rolled her eyes. "Come in." When the door swung wide, her stomach lurched at the sight of Happy standing in the threshold. "Oh, no, no ,no, no," she shook her head emphatically, hopping up from her seat. She waved him in, shut the door, and rounded on him before she could take a moment to remind herself that he wasn't the safest of choices at whom to direct her temper. "If you think I'm writing you another prescription, you're out of your goddamn mind._ No_. You guys'll just have to…rob a Walgreen's or something."

To her shock, he grinned. At least he almost did. It was still a terrifying expression, though it definitely wasn't the snarl she'd expected. "I don't want meds."

"Oh." Tara's pulse stalled, then sped up again. Shit, she'd pissed him off for no reason. "I, um…_sorry_. I just thought…"

"It's fine." He nodded toward her desk.

She sat. He sat across from her. And then the staring contest began.

When she could take it no longer, Tara cleared her throat. "Happy -,"

"I wanna have the operation."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Back when I first fucked up my knee, doc said I might need another operation down the line." He bobbed his head. "I wanna have it. See if I can start walkin' better."

She was stunned and it took her a moment to scrape together anything intelligent to say. "Um, okay. I'm not an orthopedist, but I can setup a consultation with you and Dr. Hornsby…"

He nodded again.

"He would have to do some x-rays and scans, determine the best procedure…"

"Okay."

She smiled internally. "If you have time, I can call him now. He might even be able to meet you today."

"Good."

**-O-**

Holly moved the pillows in their beaded shams to the chair in the corner of the room and returned to peel down the comforter on the bed. Tig was in the bathroom brushing his teeth – loudly. The man didn't do quiet. And Holly liked that. He'd slowly, painfully, with a good deal of declarations to the contrary, dropped the pretense of living at the clubhouse. He lived at home now, and stayed over at the clubhouse only if business was pressing or he was too drunk to ride back to the house. Now she was always surrounded by his loudness: cursing at the way the storm door stuck, watching TV with the volume turned all the way up, trying to talk to her while one of them was in the shower so he had to yell above the running water.

She was perched on her side of the bed, rubbing in her hand cream when Tig emerged. These moments – these before bed moments – were still strange. He was never going to be the peck on the cheek, "goodnight, dear" kind of guy.

"You hear?" he asked as he undid the buttons on his favorite blue shirt.

"About?" she worked the lotion in around her cuticles. She'd learned not to watch him shed his clothes and get into bed. It weirded him out, he'd told her, made him feel too domestic.

"Hap's having work done on his knee."

Holly paused, and then gave herself a mental shake, resumed her chore, working the lotion up her arms too. "Really?" she feigned casual interest, while, inside, she was asking a hundred questions. "Did the pain just get to be too much?"

"Dunno." The bed dipped as he sat down. "I do know you been bringing the kid by so he can see it. You figure it's got something to do with _that_?"

She heard the reprimand in his tone, but she refused to be rattled by it. "I'm not playing matchmaker, Tig. He asked if he could see Sam, and I obliged."

"Yeah?" he sneered. "You push people, Hol. Did you push -,"

"Who do I push?" she interrupted. "I don't push anyone. He's probably doing it because his leg hurts. And if it's for Sam or Ava, that's his choice." He glared at her. "People make sacrifices for their loved ones, Tig. All the time. Not because they have to, but because they want to."

He flopped back on the pillow, linked his hands over his chest as if he were relaxed and stared at the ceiling. But she could read the tension in him. Only after she'd turned off her lamp and stretched out beside him did he speak.

"Why'd you do it?"

She didn't have to ask "what". She knew. Holly sighed. "Because I wanted to. Tig, we've been over this -,"

"But why did you want to?"

She could see his harsh profile in the glow from the streetlamp beyond the window. "Because passing on my DNA would be a mistake." His head rolled toward her. "And because I love you and…would never want an unwanted pregnancy to get between us. After seeing what happened to Ava and Happy…" she stopped herself before she could get choked up.

"You know what?"

"What?"

His voice was firm, angry almost, but not really. Forceful. "I'm _not Hap_."

She blinked even though there'd be no way he could see the film of tears over her eyes. She nodded, though he couldn't see that either.

He sighed, but didn't protest when she burrowed through the sheets and slid her arm across his chest, cuddled up against his warm, sturdy side.

"I'm glad," she said.

**-O-**

Bedtime was more complicated than it used to be. All chores had to be pushed back until after she'd put Sam down, then it was the day's dishes – mostly his – and prepping his bag for the next day. Ironing what she needed to wear for work. Tonight she'd balanced the checkbook and paid her bills online. And only then did she have any writing time. She was staring at the screen of her laptop, watching the cursor blink…blink…blink…and could come up with not a damn word to write. When the screen blacked out, she saw her disheveled reflection in it, the hair falling out of her ponytail, the stretched out neck of the ratty old t-shirt she wore.

"Ugly-ass," she told herself.

The chime of the doorbell had her leaping out of her seat, a hand fluttering over her heart. "Jesus."

It was only, though, eight-thirty. She stuck her little .22 in the back waistband of her jeans, tucked her stray locks behind her ears and approached the front door with caution. When she swept the curtain aside and glanced out the window, her heart started thumping hard again. She almost didn't open the door. But finally did, stomach clenching up tight.

The security light painted dark, sinister shadows over Hap's lean face, made him look like the monster he'd proved to be the last time they'd interacted.

But still, in a part of her heart she was trying to suppress, she ached.

"Hey, Hap," she folded her arms and propped her shoulder against the doorjamb.

"Hey." He stuck his hands in his back pockets. "You a'ight. You and the kid?"

She opened her mouth –

"Sam, I mean. You and Sam."

- and closed it again, lips twitching, if not smiling. "Yeah. We're good."

He did smile, and it made her stomach tight in a different way. She hated her body for betraying her like that, but it didn't matter: she was hardwired for him. Preprogramed. "You look good, kiddo."

She smoothed a hand along the crown of her head. "No I don't."

He snorted.

"So, um, what brings you by?" she cringed inwardly at the lameness of the question.

"Wanted to check on you." Again with the tingling in her belly. "I went and had my knee looked at."

That was a surprise. "You did?"

Hap nodded. "Doc said somethin' about somethin' bein' torn." He shrugged. "Surgery's in a couple weeks."

"S-surgery?" she stuttered. "You're having it operated on?"

"It's fucked up. It needs fixin'."

It didn't seem to matter how many pep talks she gave herself in the mirror, how well she managed to school her features in public. Even if Sam was her whole world now, even though she worked herself to death and didn't even complain. If sleeping alone wasn't so bad as she'd once feared. She still had all sorts of dangling strings inside her only he could pull. It was guilt and regret that brought the tears up behind her eyes and blurred her vision.

That crash, that voluntary spill he'd orchestrated to save her had ruined him. Their downward spiral had begun the day his bike had crushed him between steel and pavement. He'd hated her and regretted her, had hurt her, and neither one of them had been able to let go. And all of it had been her fault because of one bright, sunny day out on the asphalt when he'd chosen her life over his.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, hating that her voice sounded weak and full of cracks. "Your leg…I'm sorry I fucked everything up for you, Hap."

He stared at her a long moment, head tilted back so the light looked like a halo around his shaved head, the shadows beneath his eyes growing long and thin, taking away the scary, replacing it with an odd sort of vulnerability. "Let it go," he said finally. His voice dropped to a low, deep rumble that seemed more vibration than sound. "I never blamed you for that, baby."

She took a shaky breath. "Why not?"

"'Cause bad shit shoulda never happened to a sweet kid who never asked for it." She dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "You were always s'posed to have a good life."

Her hand circled loosely around her throat, where he'd squeezed. He'd always been responsible for her life in some way.

He nodded again, like he was satisfied with what he'd come to say, and started down the front steps. He paused though, glanced back over his shoulder, and frowned. "You wanna have dinner sometime or somethin'?"

Tears were trickling down her cheeks now despite her best efforts. She wiped at them again as she let out a little gasp of disbelief at his question. Her head was set on the spin cycle as it was, but, Christ, was he _asking her out_? "What?"

His frown deepened. "Damn it, is this how I do this shit? I dunno." He shook his head and started down toward the sidewalk again.

"Hap, wait!" She stepped out onto the porch, trying and failing to stop crying. She took a series of deep, rattled breaths. Her chest was so tight she didn't know how she was able to breathe at all, but somehow she managed. "I'm sorry I'm crying."

He shrugged. "S'okay."

"I – I'd love to have dinner."

It was there. With Juice that day in her kitchen, there'd been this shiny promise of what might be. What could happen. And it had looked so good. But now, here, this "it"…this went beyond _might_ and _could_. She knew _this_: knew that under the obsession and attachment, there was a level of understanding that was steeped in her childhood memories, in his strange paternal sentiments, her teenage idolization…but in sacrifice, too. In a symbiotic completeness that transcended age and all the various ways in which it had always been fucked up.

What had Holly's Hallmark-loving ass said? _Wrong can be okay_.

Angry fathers, pissed off Presidents, bike crashes, crow eater informants, bullets, manhunts, college, unwanted babies, the goddamn True IRA…and his hand around her throat…couldn't break what was there. She was forever, irrevocably bonded to this man. And now she finally had the courage and strength to walk away from him, to tell him that it was probably better if she tried to go this thing alone for a little while.

But she didn't want to. Not for a second.

He started to turn again.

"Hap." To her credit, her voice didn't shake this time. "Do you…wanna come in? I was gonna make some…fish sticks or some kinda lame shit for dinner. It's not much, but -,"

"Yeah."

A beat of silence passed. Their whole history sat, this hulking monolith of love and duty and possession between them. And she didn't know who would take hold of it first, or if he even wanted –

"C'mere."

She took two great running steps and flung herself down the staircase into his offered embrace. "I'm so glad you're home," she whispered against his chest.

She felt his chin against the top of her head. And his voice traveled through his body into hers. "Me too."

**The End**


End file.
